Flesh & Blood
by anyadoll
Summary: She knew this moment would come. She'd been waiting for it for the better part of a decade, and she was prepared...
1. Scarlet Silk

A/N: Can I just say how much I love Sia? And her recent partnering with the unstoppable David Guetta—for real, amazing. Therefore, this is inspired by their recent colab., "She Wolf", an absolutely stunning song. Of course, perfect for Mentalist, a few minor touches of Florence and the Machine's "Seven Devils" thrown in for mood as well at the end of the story…I'm basing this on the premise that Lorelei is on the run, presumably Jane has lost her in his pursuit…just go with it.

**Flesh & Blood**

_Did she lie in wait?_

_Was I bait to pull you in_

_The thrill of the kill_

_You feel is a sin_

_I lay with the wolves_

_Alone it seems_

_I thought I was __p__art of you…_

__XOX

She was always to be the bait.

No doubt in her mind would allow another singular thought to the contrary. _A matter of time_. Whether she lived like bait on borrowed time was a whole other situation entirely—and she certainly did not. That was always the most obvious part of the ludicrous plan. On both sides of this dark red war. Her connection to him demanded it to be so. Demanded she be the sacrifice.

Her connection to both men, if she was honest. One wanted her purely out of the way, and had made her his new focus. The other…well, it had always been unclear what he wanted her for other than files and access to the man previous. Either way, she was bait. Either way, she was the used.

It happened rather quickly, she recalled later. In fact it was almost cliché, and somehow she felt cheated because of it. Maybe, she thought laughingly, even a bit insulted. If she were to end up in Red John's clutches, she'd hoped for some sort of huge scene, something that proved he'd prepared her capture in vivid, perfect detail.

But it wasn't he who'd taken her, after all.

No, of course he wouldn't; too risky. Instead it was his all too familiar minion. The one she continued to _hate _with a fervor she admonished herself for in the off chance moments she snuck in to hear the end of her beloved church services. The one thing she pleaded forgiveness for in confession.

He'd sent Jane's favorite to spirit her away. Lorelei Martins, with her beautifully dark face and sinful disposition. She'd lain in wait for Teresa Lisbon to return to the spot where Jane had not long ago reappeared, pretending, for all the world, to be the 'voice of God.'

Perhaps she'd made herself into an easy mark. It was the one place she thought she was safe—not even the CBI offices were near as much a sanctuary as her church, if the death of Bosco had any bearing, and the multitude of moles that resided within—and she frequented it often.

Like today. After another trying case, and another day of Jane trying her precious patience, she'd gone to seek the solace she craved. And as she knew, no one would come looking for her until the following day. Looking back, it had felt rather off as she entered those ornate doors, seating her self in the middle row.

She really should have seen it coming, being the aforementioned bait, and all.

She'd heard the doors squeal open, heard the click of languid, unhurried but purposeful heels as she knelt and prayed that she could forgive those who trespassed against her.

Heard the heels stop next to her. Felt the presence slide into the row behind her.

Felt the sharp knife at the back of her neck.

And she knew, then, her time was up.

She'd come to be collected, at last. She'd be the price paid for disobedience and disrespect caused by her friend. It was almost a relief that the day had finally come. Glancing over ones shoulder certainly grew tiresome.

But it was also her own fault, so reckless as to come in civilians, without a badge or a gun to leave a mark that she was here. Coming, armed, into a church was against her moral conscious. Except for one thing she could leave behind in her wake, to prove nothing other than life.

Lorelei allowed her the simple act of finishing her prayer. And as Teresa Lisbon crossed herself, she yanked her gold cross from her very neck, gently laying it in the pew as she stood. Unseen and undetected by the vile woman behind her.

It was hard to let the tiny object go. It was her salvation in times like these.

She stood silently. Screaming would not save her. Lorelei stood up behind her, knife delicately pressed into her spine, left arm snaking around her shoulders, pushing her forward. Too any churchgoers or passersby, they would look like sisters in an embrace.

Teresa dipped her fingertips into the small glass of holy water, as Lorelei smirked, her deceitful, cunning gaze taking in the scene with confusion and question. She leaned in, her mouth pressed close to Teresa's ear, as if to whisper a sisterly secret touched with strange amusement.

"Holy water won't help you now, Teresa…"

XOX

He'd never really questioned what she did when she finished with work. Did she head home to a hot bath and a bottle of wine? Did she take a long drive to the beach, walk along the shoreline and listen to the ocean waves crest? Did she grab coffee at her favorite stand and read a book for hours to escape the dark reality he forced on her every day?

He doubted any of the above made their way across her mind. Baths took too long, and she rarely drank; a drive to the beach so late was too silly and preposterous for someone as constantly keyed up as she; and he'd never seen her pick up a book near him in the ten years they'd known each other. Not to say she was neither smart, nor did she read, but he was sure the titles she preferred were the kind that made one flush to read in public.

He smiled at the thought. Certain in the knowledge that a small collection of extremely overt romance novels littered her bedroom shelves.

He heard Van Pelt click the light of her desk lamp off, gathering her bag to depart the office. She'd been staying later and later. He'd waxed often that she was far too pretty to have no social life. She constantly shrugged him off; they'd become closer, more understanding after each losing apart of themselves to the serial killer that plagued them. They waged bets, played nicer with each other, and had become comfortable friends.

But she was far too lovely to remain here so late. The all-consuming need to be as dedicated as her boss and to prove she was worthy to the men that looked at her as nothing more than a playboy model—not including Cho, as he would never see her as such, or even Rigsby, though Jane knew the man still harbored feelings for the flame-haired beauty. He hoped the two would eventually get it together.

He had a heavy sum on a certain date seven months from now.

But he knew her efforts were well intentioned, if misguided. She did not want to become Teresa Lisbon, he'd seen it in her hazel eyes more often, lately, than not. And who would? Teresa Lisbon's reputation lay in direct correlation with that of Patrick Jane's. They were synonymous with trouble and lies and deceit. Ones actions affected the other, as did ones words.

And words were far, far more powerful than any action.

As it was, from his couch he half smiled and peeked out of one open eye, ready to repeat their usual exit speech.

"You shouldn't stay so late, Grace. You're far too pretty to gather wrinkles from straining your eyes with all of that paperwork."

She quirked her typical grin, "I get out, don't you worry about it. Besides, someone has to do it, and Boss needed the night off."

She didn't add, "_Because of you,_" and he was grateful.

"Well…then go on and enjoy yourself. Perhaps our Rigsby could use some company, you know, what with Ben and all, you begin to forget what speaking to adults is like," he added, subliminally. But he knew she'd take the bait.

Her blush told him she would be taking that offer, or had maybe already planned it. "Alright, well, I'm out Jane. Seeya in the morning."

A thought crossed his mind. "Grace, a moment. Where do you think it is Lisbon goes off too when she actually leaves early?"

He tried to make the question seem aloof.

Grace bit her lip, knowing but not wanting to divulge. It was something, then, to do with the last six months he'd been gone.

She seemed to make up her mind after a moment of dawdling. "She used to…well…she started going to this church at night, after the hard cases, or when she missed…" she tried to catch her observations from tumbling out of her mouth. Thinking better of it, she finished, "when she missed you. I think it gave her comfort, she started going regularly."

He realized it was most certainly Lisbon-like. Simple, quiet, unbothered by him…except for that one time…

He smiled to himself, knowing where he was headed. "Hey Grace, wait up, I'll walk you out."

XOX

"So, Lorelei, all things considered, will you at least give me the satisfaction of knowing your real name?" Teresa asked, rather conversationally. She'd been waiting for this for a decade. That her time was up had no bearing on her small talk. She was so infinitely calm; she could have been in the passenger seat on a road trip with an old friend.

Lorelei made a small snort of a noise, casting her gaze to the agent carefully. As if she was sizing up her competition. Though Teresa knew there was none. Not now. The woman next to her had won him in the end.

"It's curious you want to know so badly. My name never mattered before, she's dead anyway. You didn't strike me as the type to forfeit so easily, Agent Lisbon. I thought you'd surely fight for you life? For _his _sake, at least."

It was Lisbon's turn to snort. "I've been preparing for this. I knew it would happen after Patrick came back, after the FBI conveniently 'lost' you in transit. Back when you demanded my head as a prize, I knew my time was running short."

Lorelei cocked her head to the side, as if too quietly agree. "That's very profound of you Agent Lisbon, or do you mind Teresa? Since you wish to know my name, I should call you by yours."

Teresa shrugged. It didn't matter, did it?

The younger woman smiled, biting her lip curiously. "Leah Monroe. My real name."

"Good to know," Lisbon said calmly.

The rest of the drive was spent in a soft silence. Nothing but the turning of wheels on asphalt, the rush of trees in shadow and dark landscape passing by.

Nothing at all.

XOX

He broached the church carefully, knowing it was her place of peace and he'd already somewhat desecrated it once before by screaming all bouts of obscene things. The memory itself, for him, was hilarious.

He had tried her patience enough for one night, though. Better to get back too good.

God knew, it had been a long time since they'd been able to really talk again. She had learned to close herself off while simultaneously gained the ability to read his body language. Reading her had become a complicated game now. Her eyes were shuttered; she was sarcastic and dismissive, as if in the end, she knew he would leave her again. Maybe she was right.

He'd never thought about _after_.

He pushed through the heavy, wide carved doors, making his way through the entry where candles flickered and the holy water cast small ripples with his gentle footsteps.

He could see the allure, despite his protests. It was beautiful, soothing, and a polite, wonderful, kind of lonely. It was her sanctuary, as his was the attic. He couldn't fault her for that.

Patrick Jane's eyes roved over the few late night churchgoing folk, searching out the petite raven-haired beauty as he trailed his fingertips over the rows of wooden pews. Perhaps he'd missed her, or guessed incorrectly. As much as he and Van Pelt were getting along, given his six-month absence, he wouldn't doubt her ability to mislead him just to give Teresa her space.

Something gave him pause when he reached the very pew she had been sitting in when he'd popped up behind her. Something glittered, bright and winking, in his eye line. It took him a moment to realize what it was. Another to understand its implications. His world seemed to slow and slant, the people around him disappearing.

His breath stilled as he picked up the little gold cross, dangling limply from its broken chain, speckled with flecks of blood and a few strands of dark hair, from her yanking it off her own neck. Red John, nor his minions, would have been so careless.

Her church was no longer safe.

Cell phone in hand, he didn't notice he was screaming into the phone until the nun in the corner looked up at him with concern and irritation, the sharp little cross violently biting into his palm.

He called Van Pelt first who relayed the information to Rigsby, followed by Cho, who in turn took over and demanded they all meet immediately at the scene. No sleep tonight. No time spent with secret lovers, Jane thought in passing, forgetting his bet entirely as Grace and Rigsby showed up together, toting Ben with them. Rigsby had an exhausted, rueful expression on his face, one that said he'd sent the nanny home, not accounting for their boss's abduction.

His world was spinning in wild circles. No struggle. He knew that, he knew whoever had abducted Teresa Lisbon knew she would concede. It was so un-Lisbon-like, he couldn't fathom why she'd go without a struggle. Even at knife or gun point, she would have been able to take her assailant. Another thought crawled across his mind, darkly. He had to get to her condo.

Red John would not go about marking a church—far too public for his taste. Surely there would be a bloody smile face awaiting them at her apartment. Perhaps her detour had saved her life. For now.

While the three CBI team members huddled around the empty pew, Patrick Jane vanished into the night with the gold cross clutched in his palm. He knew a message awaited him.

XOX

_If this is the end_, she thought, she was glad she'd spoken to each of her brothers in the past week. She was glad, whether she wanted to admit it or not, that Annabeth wanted to be just like her. Glad she had a wonderful team that proved to be loyal, brilliant, friends. Glad to have loved, even if she had not been loved equally, in return.

The car came to a stop, kicking up dust behind it. Teresa had not bothered counting how many hours they'd been on the road. The sun had risen. She'd probably be grabbing her morning coffee at her favorite kiosk right now. Jane would be asleep on his couch, or at least pretending. Van Pelt clicking away, trying to pretend she wasn't still in love with Rigsby, who was just as in love with her. Given Sarah had no intention of marrying Wayne, and they currently shared custody of little Ben, it had at least been an amicable split. Grace was there for him, especially with the recent bitter passing of his father. She could not, and would not, fault either for the comfort. She chose to turn a blind eye—mostly due in large part to Jane's gradual softening of her. Cho would be flipping through whatever book by a Russian author he had chosen for the week. The man had some intense taste, she smiled lightly to herself. She would not trade her team for another. No matter today ended.

"We're here Teresa," Lorelei said with a smirk. "You're the woman of the hour. But let's get you to change first—you don't exactly look acceptable in that. Not for this meeting."

XOX

He broke a multitude of speeding laws in his ragged pursuit. He broke more upon picking her lock, entering her home without consent.

There was nothing on the outside of the door, nothing in the living room or kitchen. That left her bedroom, which he had never seen. He climbed the stairs two at a time, pushing the door open. Sure enough, above her bed was the dark red smile. But who's blood was it? Surely she was still alive; she'd been abducted in a church, not her home. It was a scare tactic, and he knew it. He'd have Cho test it when they caught up. But it wasn't a priority. Not right now.

He searched the room with a trained eye, looking for anything out of place. She was a neat and orderly person, and of her entire apartment, her bedroom was the most personal. She may have kept the previous tenants art on her wall in the living room, but it was not the case here. Across from her bed were dozens of photos of family, of the team, of landscapes littering her wall. Her closet door was ajar, and he found amongst the casual work blazers and pants and jeans that she had a small collection of pretty, unused dresses that would surely bring out her stunning green eyes. He touched the silky fabrics longingly, knowing she must have done the same dozens of times.

Her side tables were covered with the essentials. A set of matching lamps, a small stack of books and magazines he never thought she'd bother to read. A coffee mug, empty of course. A photo that surprised him; one of Daisy the elephant, from when he'd had the trouble with Danny, his late wife's brother. "Pepper" as they'd called her, had become quite fond of the elephant. That's when he noticed the other little mementos, from him no less, that captured the inside of her drawer. Her Spice Girls CD. The small paper frog when he'd gotten on her bad side, a photo and an address of where she'd taken the pony he'd got her for her birthday. Little things that meant nothing to most, but plenty to him.

In the other bedside table drawer lay something that scared him more than the prospect of her disappearance. On the outside it appeared to be nothing more than a plain manila folder, unmarked. But it was the inside that captivated him, and therefore, frightened him.

He knew most cops had one, but hers had been recently updated.

A living will and a pile of sealed envelopes were neatly bound by a rubber band. She'd planned for this to happen. Planned, and knew she would not make it out alive.

He ripped the rubber band off, searching for the letter to him, sitting on her bed hard. It was at the bottom of the stack, and noting the indents in the envelope, figured it had been written some time ago. Unchanged, unlike the newer, brighter envelopes.

He knew it was not for him to read. Not unless she was truly departed. He could not help himself though; his curiosity would definitely get him killed. It would certainly kill her, he decided, tearing open the letter without a second notion.

XOX

The house was large and strange, sitting almost forlornly in the middle of nowhere, with scant trees and desert like sand. Red John was a wealthy man, whoever he was. She knew he had to have wealth to have the kind of connections and following that he did. But_ this_ was rather extraordinary.

Lorelei had led her up two flights of spiraling staircases, past three closed off rooms, into the room she stood in now. High ceilings, a carved canopy bed with draped curtains to block out the harsh afternoon sun, a wood floor with heavy Persian rugs adorning it. Lorelei had nodded to the wardrobe before leaving, locking the door in her wake.

Like Lisbon could actually leave.

Teresa Lisbon opened the wardrobe, finding a vast array of priceless gowns. If she were going to die, apparently it would be in style. For the life of her she couldn't figure out why. He had not taken care of his previous victims—male or female—with this kind of reverence. What made her so special?

She sighed, flipping through the rather expensive, decorative dresses. Each silk confection was red, she noted humorlessly. Her hand stopped on one, a deep divine scarlet, simple, no glitz or glam to it. The kind of dress she would wear to a black tie affair, or a CBI fundraiser, and return the next day. At least he, or his minions, considering the dresses were all her size and height specifications, had taste. She slipped the dress on; it practically dripped off her in all of it's silken glory—one shouldered, stunning in its simplicity, she knew she looked beautiful as the scarlet silk pooled at her feet, casting the illusion that the wood floor was covered with blood.

It probably would be soon.

XOX

_Seven devils all around you_

_Seven devils in my house_

_See they were there when I woke up this morning_

_I'll be dead before the day is done…_


	2. Snow White

A/N: Yes I know I'm that horrible writer who has two multi-chap fics going on simultaneously. I'm still formulating the plan for WPTRR. Sorry, it's like I started it and lost it…but I will get back to it eventually, promise! Also, I want my readers to know that Lisbon isn't playing victim, I think she's honestly waiting for RJ to come and get her, so I'm playing into my theory [a bit dramatically, to be sure]. I can kind of see her giving in, a little bit, but I'm not going to make a pushover-Lisbon—woman is a fighter, got it! I'm also horrible with geography, and east coast bred, so I'm taking artistic liberties here…

**Flesh & Blood**

_A shot in the dark_

_A past, lost in space_

_Where do I start?_

_The past and the chase_

_You hunted me down_

_Like a wolf, a predator_

_I felt like a deer in love lights_

XOX

He crushed the letter in his fists. She was nothing if not prepared. But when he found her, he would have to have a serious talk with the self-sacrificing pain in his side that was Teresa Lisbon. She certainly was not making this easy.

_If you don't think I have a plan, you are a rather foolish man, Patrick Jane. Not everything is about you. Sometimes it's about me. This is going to be hard for you to understand, and I know I'm not there to help you, but you're smart and I know you'll figure it out. You're an idiot, Patrick. But I love you for that. _

_-Teresa_

He felt rather cheated in his letter from her. Cheated, but he smiled at the short, concise content that screamed her name. Only she could make him feel like a fool and the smartest man on earth in the span of six sentences. The first line threw him, but gave him a sense of satisfaction. The last gave him a spark of happiness and hope.

It wasn't like it was a new revelation. He'd known for some time.

He'd make sure she knew too.

XOX

She wasn't sure how long she stood in front of the ornate floor-to-ceiling mirror in the divine, scarlet dress. Seeing but not seeing. It was silly to memorize an image that wouldn't last.

She couldn't help but wonder if anyone was looking for her yet. Had anyone found her necklace? Did anyone suspect she was gone? Was she even missed?

Surely Jane had gone in search of her, surely he missed her. He was intuitive enough after all. At this point, all she could do was hope.

She was startled when a knock came at the large door. She swallowed thickly. "Come in."

Teresa would play their games. She'd dress up in their party gowns; she'd cooperate with their charade. Certainly she'd be paraded around as the gift from Patrick Jane.

She'd play, and buy herself time.

Buy him time.

If not, she would be dead soon. If he didn't come for her, well…she couldn't afford to think like that…

The door swung open gently—two of Red John's minions, one Lorelei, the other a blonde woman she'd not yet seen—entered, dressed to the nines as she. All in varying shades of red.

"What a lovely choice Teresa. Red John will be pleased," Lorelei replied with a bit of force and a shapely eyebrow raised. _Still sizing up a dead woman_, Lisbon thought darkly. "Now, about the rest…of you."

Apparently, this was where the blonde came in; Lisbon noted the bag she was toting, the one she was now laying on the bed and opening to reveal a massive collection of makeup tubes, gels, brushes, and colors.

It was Lisbon's turn to raise an eyebrow.

Lorelei and the unnamed blonde woman circled her still figure like wolves sizing up their prey. They pulled at her hair with brushes and played with makeup like she was a doll to be presented. And maybe she was. For all intents and purposes, she was little more than a glorified trophy that Red John would have the pleasure of playing with.

Without opening her eyes, not wanting a mascara wand to stab her, she quietly asked Lorelei her most burning question. "Why is Red John doing this? Why dress me in an expensive gown and doll me up if he's just going to kill me anyways?"

She felt the hand that held the brush slow, almost thoughtfully, while the blonde painted her nails—red, no doubt. "Think of this as your presentation into society Teresa, a coming out party of a sort. All the head honchos and important power players will be here tonight. Like I said, you're the woman of the hour, and Red John would not have you looking so drab. It's his gift, to make you as comfortable as possible tonight."

Lisbon wanted to scoff. Wanted to comment that comfort involved her badge and gun, her clothes, her style. Not this pompous party fashion; she felt like a stranger in her body.

"All finished Teresa," Lorelei whispered. Lisbon refused to open her eyes while the witch remained in the room with her. Before Lorelei left, she felt a pressure settle around her neck; a necklace of some sort, maybe. When the door closed, signaling their departure, she sighed heavily, carefully opening her eyes.

She couldn't help the small, short gasp.

If it was possible, she'd never looked more beautiful in her life. Her raven hair shined in the dim lighting, brushed stick straight, not a curl to be seen—an almost impossible feat for her in the California heat. The make up, courtesy of the blonde, augmented every feature, including enhancing her bright emerald eyes, and her lips were coated with the same deep scarlet as her dress, the kind of color she would never dare try. She was flawless. She looked for all the world like Snow White before the apple.

The necklace captured her attention. The urge to rip it off her neck blazed fiercely. It was a gold cross, but a cross-inlaid with dozens of small rubies. Of which she was certain were all very real. They knew, then, that she'd left her own calling card. Had not cared to mention that they knew.

She really was a stranger to herself. She would die, and not even Jane would be able to recognize this facet of her former self.

There was no point in crying over it, she decided, willing the tears to remain behind her eyes.

It would solve nothing, and it would do little to save her.

XOX

It was a little over forty minutes when the team caught up with him.

Stressed and irritated, he'd brewed tea—his brand, which she lovingly kept in stock—and continued to scour her apartment for any other sign of their illusive serial mastermind.

Jane was becoming increasingly frustrated—it felt like they were being led on a wild goose chase. The blood could be Lisbon's, but he knew it wasn't uncommon for all forms of police forces, FBI, and military to keep blood stored in case of emergencies.

He did not tell the team about the will or the letters, choosing to keep that private detail to himself, at least for now. It wasn't until he closed her bedroom door, deciding to take one last sweep, privately, that he noticed the note, hidden on the inside, facing the wall. Of course he missed it.

He held his breath while he read the contents.

_Dear Mr. Jane_

_You are cordially invited to the presentation of Teresa Lisbon. _

_This will be a black tie affair. _

_Please arrive promptly at 8pm._

_No guests allowed._

Jane felt his stomach roll. Presentation?

He recalled how Lorelei crudely referred to Lisbon as a gift; hell, she'd referred to herself as a gift to Jane. He did not wish to know the connotation behind the word _presentation. _He glanced at her alarm clock, noting it was one in the afternoon.

He had seven hours.

And they were still no closer to finding out exactly where Red John could be keeping Teresa Lisbon.

XOX

The next knock was slightly more expected. Softer.

This time it was neither Lorelei, nor the blonde make up artist. It was a lower level minion though, dressed in a blood red suit, to be sure. He seemed a bit fidgety in her presence. He certainly wouldn't be making his way up the ranks anytime soon, and was probably the disposable kind of minion, she thought idly.

The low level minion stood resolutely outside her door, a silver filigree tray in his outstretched palm with a burner cell phone placed in the center.

She glanced at the man curiously, lips poised to question.

"Red John would like to offer you a phone call. You may call anyone you like. You have five minutes, and the phone dies."

She snatched the phone, a bit abashed, and slammed the door closed in her wake, leaning heavily against it. The number she dialed was one long ago memorized by heart.

"C'mon, c'mon….answer…"

XOX

Jane glanced down at his cell phone, an unknown number flashing up at him. He was rarely one to answer calls unless they came from one of the team members, but at this point, he would take anything if it gave him a lead.

He carefully answered the phone, maneuvering to a more secluded part of Lisbon's home.

"This is Jane," he answered cautiously.

"Oh my god, Patrick," Lisbon responded breathlessly. His ears instinctively perked.

"Teresa, where are you? How are you talking to me?"

"One of his minions gave me a cell phone, with instructions to call anyone I wanted. I only have five minutes, Jane. I don't know where I am, we drove for so long. I know I'm at least three hours out of Sacramento, in a mansion in the middle of nowhere. I have no idea what he wants to do with me Jane, it's like he's throwing a party in my honor?"

"I know, let's just say I got an invitation. And Lisbon, there's a lovely face on your wall, we don't know who's blood it is, the team is still waiting on results."

"I donate blood, and I should have blood stored in case of an emergency, so it could very well be mine Jane."

"That's what I thought. Look, is there anyway you can get out, escape, anything?"

"No. I'm on the third floor, and it's a pretty steep drop, even for me." She recounted, having thought the same thing, until she saw the drop. "His people are guarding the door, and they lock me in when they leave." She paused, breathing, keeping the tears out of her voice, and knowing she was failing. "Look, Patrick, my chances are looking pretty grim here…it's not like I haven't accepted this already. Just…this isn't your fault, okay? I don't blame you for this, and I swear if you blame yourself I will haunt you until the day you die!"

"Teresa, stop it," he said numbly. "You don't get to talk like that. Do you understand me? I need you to keep it together, I need you, okay, I just need you…you don't get to leave me, understand?"

She nodded, then realizing he couldn't see her nod, she responded quietly instead. "Yea, I hear you. Tell the team I'm okay, alright? And Jane, I just wanted to tell you…I just, I—"

He stared at his phone, listening to the cruel dial tone; she glared at hers, the tears falling, ruining the work the blonde had meticulously catered too. So fate wouldn't even let her give her last confession then?

She furiously pushed the tears away, and glancing at the reflection of a woman she no longer knew, threw the phone forcefully at the mirror, watching as it shattered, glass cascading around her like a sharp waterfall.

XOX

There were not many mansions in the desert.

Even fewer the farther out of California, away from celebrities, one got. And Red John had proven he was a rather private, albeit well connected, person.

He'd relayed his conversation with Lisbon to the team, including the uneasy, foreboding invitation. Grace was already chartering a helicopter, as their cars would never make it in time with all the ground to cover. Rigsby was searching for any land deeds in the 3-hour radius Teresa had given him, and Cho was formulating a tactic, fielding phone calls to trusted SWAT members, keenly keeping the FBI out of their plans.

Jane paced furiously, something none of the team had ever seen him do. He was not a pacer. Grace finally stood, blocking his movement.

"Jane, you're driving us crazy. Stop it! She needs you to be the levelheaded one here, we all do. You know him better than anyone…think…where could he be keeping her?"

Jane stared at the red head sadly. "The question isn't where, Grace, it's _why_. Why is he keeping her alive at all? Why give her the opportunity to call me? It's all a part of his game. Right now, he knows he has me," Jane looked away. "He knows what this will do to me."

Grace moved to say something, but was interrupted by an ecstatic Rigsby, waving a paper joyfully and nearly knocking out a passing agent on his rampage. "Guys, I got it! I found a land deed for a large property about an hour outside of Carson City, Nevada. I looked into it and it says it hasn't been occupied, that the original owner died about fifteen years ago with no heirs, when Red John would have started, but there's been constant electric and water payments made every month from different accounts since."

Cho nodded with something Jane would say was the closest he'd ever seen the stoic Asian man come to a smile, as the team held their collective breath.

"Let's go, we've got a party to crash."

XOX

No one knocked the final time the door swung open. It was Lorelei that entered once more—she could smell the signature perfume from where she stood, facing the massive window.

"Breaking a mirror is seven years bad luck, you know," Lorelei said mockingly, stepping in and around the broken glass.

Lisbon laughed mirthlessly. "I'll remember that. Considering I have far less than seven hours, let alone seven years."

Lorelei shrugged, dropping onto the luxurious, unused bed. "Well, isn't someone being just a little bit catty. This party is for you after all. You could at least be thankful. Think about it, Red John didn't have to let you call your precious Patrick to say goodbye. I could have just slit your throat in that church. I could have thrown you out of the car at any time."

"So why didn't you? Afraid your friend would have a little fit if you didn't follow instructions?"

Lorelei smiled. "Oh, nothing like that. I know his plan for you, for Patrick. I like it better than I'd like killing you. Personally I don't understand his fascination with you."

"Who's? Red John's or Patrick's?" Lisbon asked with a twinge of smugness.

"Both, either. You're…average. Nothing is really glaringly special about you. You're not the most beautiful woman, or the smartest, or the best at what you do…but somehow you have two dark men captivated. That takes a certain kind of…character flaw."

Lisbon snorted. "You would know."

"Yes, I would. But I had to work for _that_ sort of attention. I mean, like I didn't know the whole time I was with Patrick he wasn't thinking of his poor, lonely Saint Teresa back in California. I could see it in his eyes. Sure, I could look, dress, act like you, but he knew the difference."

Lisbon noted the slight touch of hurt in the vile woman's voice. It surely did have to hurt, knowing you were second best. It certainly hurt her. Of course, she was also playing second fiddle to a ghost.

She heard Lorelei stand and approach her. "The parties about to start," she whispered ominously.

Teresa Lisbon clutched the jagged piece of glass tightly, feeling it cut into her palm. The tell tale warmth of blood seeped from the fresh cuts, trailing down her wrist, and she could smell the metallic tang, keeping her arms folded tightly to her chest.

She smiled darkly.

"So it is."

XOX

_Holy water cannot help you now_

_A thousand armies couldn't keep me out_

_I don't want your money_

_I don't want your crown_

_See I've come to burn_

_Your kingdom down…_


	3. Blood Bath

A/N: I don't know why, but this is probably one of the stories I've had the most fun writing, maybe because it's completely implausible, but I love the idea. Maybe it's Lisbon fighting in a fancy dress. Maybe I just love writing darker shades of characters. This is probably the closet I've come to an AU storyline as well. Or maybe just OOC for Lisbon. I don't know though, you guys tell me! The songs haven't changed: the opening is "She Wolf" by Sia, the ending song is "Seven Devils" by Florence and the Machine. Sorry, this will probably be a 4-shot…[Also, another good musical piece to listen too while reading this would be "Building Steam With A Grain Of Salt" by DJ Shadow, so rhythmically beautiful…]

**Flesh & Blood**

_You loved me, and I froze in time_

_Hungry for that flesh of mine_

_But I can't compete_

_With the she-wolf who has brought me to my knees_

_What do you see in those yellow eyes?_

_As I'm falling to pieces_

XOX

She'd lied when she said she had a plan. There was no plan for this. How could there be? What she'd expected was something akin to a dungeon straight out of a fairytale, chained to a pole and cut by knives for days. She'd expected cold, dripping ceilings and damp floors and outright mistreatment. This was a different kind of psychology all together. She had not expected to be dolled up like a princess. Had not expected something close to a coronation ball, for all intents and purposes. So if she were to wear a priceless gown, have a professional enhance the very features she could never seem to fit into, be allowed a final statement to her beloved, in an almost castle-like setting…what was his plan? Why change her appearance into some fairy like image of her former self if he were only to gut her in the end? Was it a sick final twist? Would she be butchered, the cop-come-princess, for all to see? The anticipation was by far, worse than the knowledge of what her fate would surely be. Either way, she knew she'd be dead before the day was done. Now it was only a matter of how and when. She could believe that she had faith that they'd find her in time, and some small part of her clung to that. But she was alone in this, always was and would be. Alone, and surrounded by a crowd of those who chose to follow a mad man to the grave. It did not bear well on her sanity, she knew, that she'd managed to play along as well as she has. Not with the sharp glass shard digging into her skin, drawing blood, keeping her focused on her own goal. _Get out alive. Get out alive_. And right now, _getting out alive_ meant killing her own personal demon.

Lorelei Martins.

XOX

The helicopter was not moving at a desired speed, that much Patrick Jane knew. He desperately wanted to yell at the pilot, tell him to gun it, fly faster. But one could not 'gun a helicopter' apparently, as Van Pelt told him, reading his mind. He clenched her hand tightly instead, wishing it were Teresa Lisbon's reassuring grip.

Grace knew she was merely a stand in. Was not bothered by that fact. She'd been rooting for her Boss and the crazy, gold-haired consultant for many years. Probably long before either knew there was anything to root for. She only hoped now that there would be something left to root so frivolously for.

She knew he would not survive the death of Teresa Lisbon, that was sure.

Cho made no move to speak, quietly observing the scene, keeping all comments to himself. Like Grace, but on a less romantic scale, he knew their Boss was too entangled with the likes of Patrick Jane to ever find someone else more suited to her taste. Sure they had not intended to become so involved, it had simply happened. Reluctant coworkers became tenuous friends; tenuous friends leaned, precariously, into crossing the ever-present imaginary line drawn by bureaucracy and obsession.

His will to keep her safe in the end had only distanced her so dramatically that the target grew larger on her back. He'd made it easier and easier for her to be snatched, left her alone more, alone to follow leads in blind alleys while he searched for the ever present demon mistress herself—a futile effort in the end. She'd slipped away into shadows, never to be seen again, and taken Teresa now with her.

Even Rigsby could see it—and that was saying a lot—considering he was the most clueless when it came to his Boss's affairs of the heart, having his own to deal with and a child thrown into the oft haphazard mix. Maybe it was because Grace liked to toe the subject with him, perhaps that was the reason he'd picked up on the change. One desperately wanted nothing more than to protect the other, while the other wished to tackle the mission alone. Jane had practically forced Lisbon out of his life with a good, hard shove…maybe, and he would not be the one to speak ill, it would be enough to force him to see what was there, what was living, breathing, loving, right in front of him.

As for Jane, he was caught realizing a whole other thought entirely. He'd been chasing a monster longer than he'd known the woman slain by it. They'd been married a mere six years, and had not known each other as well as he led them all to believe at that. The circus was what had bound them. They'd had Charlotte a year into their marriage. That life had been taken abruptly. But since, he'd spent a year in a glorified asylum seeking solace—and the past ten on a costly, brutal manhunt. He'd been involved with a serial killer longer than his dead wife. He'd been involved with Teresa Lisbon, knew her better, longer, than his dead wife.

Maybe that's why he'd forced her out so roughly. It was the kind of psychology that hurt the most. He'd never truly given thought to the prospect until today. He had professed 'til death do they part, and she had indeed, parted from him. Would Angela be so angry if he removed the binding ring? To know he'd fallen for a woman he had killed for, would die for, that he knew better than his wife?

No. She would not be angry. It wasn't her way.

Charlotte had told him as much.

XOX

Teresa had barely maintained her courage. Lorelei was literally right behind her. It would be quick, and she would be merciful. No sense in prolonging such things. She wasn't the monster here.

So then, why couldn't she stab the woman who'd slept with Jane, demanded her head on a platter, kidnapped her from her church at knife point no less, driven her here to be gawked at and picked apart by the very man Jane was hunting?

Because she _wasn't_ a monster.

No matter what she told herself, Lorelei would not be doing the killing tonight. Lorelei Martins may be working in tandem with a killer, but Leah Monroe was an innocent, brainwashed victim in her own right. Teresa Lisbon was not a killer.

A few hard raps on the door distracted Lorelei, and she turned, maneuvering away from the agent to answer it.

Lisbon had precious little time to hide the glass shard. The dress was tight, but not incredibly so, and the shard was thin but stable. Carefully, she moved the glass piece under the one, thickly gathered shoulder strap, wincing when it pricked her skin, pulling her long raven hair in front to hide the evidence. She was glad they had not decided to turn her hair into some crazed updo. She'd had worse.

And she was desperate.

She kept her right hand flat on her dress—allowing her bloodied palm to blend in with the scarlet dress. Perhaps red wasn't the worst of colors he could have chosen for tonight's festivities after all. It was rather genius; she could carry the train of the dress in her right hand as she descended the staircase. No one would be the wiser.

Lorelei took that moment to turn with a wide smile.

"It's time Teresa."

XOX

"How much farther!" Jane yelled over the loud flapping of the helicopter propellers.

"About forty minutes, longer if you ask again!" the pilot called back, clearly irritated at the blonde man. He'd demanded to know how much farther in ten-minute intervals, and it was seriously grating the older man's patience.

Jane sulked, running through scenarios, and knowing he was running out of time.

XOX

She could hear music.

Violins, to be exact.

She was sure Jane could tell her what was being played, maybe even Cho could identify the solemn, melodic piece, but in her stress, she couldn't understand the notes.

Her nose was assaulted by the distinct smell of what appeared to be thousands of deep red roses from every corner of the vast mansion. The roses hung from the chandeliers like Christmas garlands, were petals scattered down the stairs, the floors, the rugs. They awaited in vases on, from what she could see peeking over the balcony, at least seven tables full of masked patrons dressed all in red.

She felt physically sick.

The lights dimmed, as candles took over, creating an unsettling ambiance. Lorelei walked ahead of her, like a lady-in-waiting. It was almost ritualistic, and Lisbon realized Red John would have had to plan this event for months—something this extensive, and certainly costly, did not just happen overnight. Gowns as priceless as the one she wore were not procured in a day—and she had the suspicion that the dresses in the wardrobe were custom made. Nothing ever fit so well. And a ruby encrusted cross was far from cheap.

She'd resolved to keep her head up. To not waiver, not scream or cry or beg for her life. She would not give him the satisfaction.

By the time she reached the main floor, all of the black masked patrons had turned to stare. A chill ran down her spine. It was unnerving, being watched by so many in their odd masks, and her with nothing to hide behind. No badge, no gun.

She'd never been more exposed.

"Our honorable guest has arrived," said a bone-chilling voice from a hidden enclave. Lisbon froze in her place. He emerged slowly, a mask covering his face as well, muffling the voice. But she knew, clear as her own name, that it was Red John. "Welcome, Teresa," he said quietly. "We've been waiting, anxiously, to finally meet you."

She was rendered speechless. Her heart in her throat.

He nodded at someone, more lower level echelon, she assumed. "Please enjoy, while I tend to our esteemed guest."

She wanted to laugh. Dinner? They were really eating while she was sure to be murdered in a few short hours?

"Follow me, we will be dining privately."

She had no choice.

She followed him numbly, but was only led to a balcony through the same enclave he'd emerged from.

She was utterly bewildered. All of this for dinner?

He pulled out a chair for her at the table for two. She sat cautiously, sizing him up. She felt like she was dining with the devil. She had to remind herself that she was the bait.

A waiter/minion pulled the tops off of the dinner plates. It was some kind of soup, but she was far from hungry. She'd be fine never eating again, in fact. But the red wine poured for her certainly seemed appealing.

She refused to touch anything on pretense.

He noticed, but said nothing, choosing to sip his wine, equally sizing her up.

"You're a rather hard woman to impress; this event is for you after all. I have gowns flown in from Italy and France, a lovely ruby cross made to replace the one you broke and left for our dear friend. The best make up artist a man can buy, along with dozens and dozens of very rare roses from England. An A-List chef prepared the very meal you are refusing to touch."

"Why do all of this?" she asked plainly.

He smiled. "Would you like me to answer that question? I have a proposition for you, Agent Lisbon, or would it be alright if I called you Teresa? I'm never sure with you touchy law enforcement types. So formal all the time. You may simply call me John. Less…abrasive than the press moniker."

She nodded, warily. "Teresa is fine."

"Very well, Teresa. Now that we have the introductions out of the way, I have a proposition: you may ask me three questions. Any three questions and I will willingly answer each in grand detail. And look at it this way—the more time you take to ask a question, the more time your team and Patrick have to crash our very lovely party."

"I accept," she replied instantly, but not eagerly. She couldn't take the pressure though, and grasped the wine glass, taking a hearty gulp of the crimson liquid to steady her vibrating nerves. She'd noted the drop off when he'd led her to her seat; the balcony here on the main floor was a lookout point—there had to be some sort of basement, or the house was built on a hill. It made her point easier to make, a bit dramatic, but a point either way. He smirked. "But I have a condition. The mask goes, or you get nothing. So help me God, I will throw myself off this balcony before you have the chance to so much as touch me."

He laughed, a full, loud laugh. It startled her.

"Very well."

She wasn't sure what she expected. A deformity of some sort, or a hideous beast behind that black mask. She did not recognize this man. He was a mystery. Nobody. He was average, but rather good-looking by her standards. At least forty-five, Jane's age and height. Once removed, even his voice took on a more soothing quality. Dark hair, dark eyes, light skin—well groomed. He could have been a lawyer she passed on the street. She was even more bewildered now. Now she could see the attraction.

"I will not use your prior question against you Teresa. But your answer is this: I like beautiful things. _You_ are a beautiful thing. Beautiful things, such as yourself, should be…cared for, as if they are priceless artifacts. I have plenty of money, I have access to many areas most do not, and I, as you know, am extremely connected. I can have and do anything I please. That is why I'm doing all of this. To prove a point."

"And what point is that?"

"Is that one of your questions?" He paused, allowing her to think while the waiter pulled the soup away and replaced it with an appetizer.

"No. Why…what made you kill all these people?" It had been one of her most burning questions. The psychology behind it.

He shrugged, "Some were old cohorts who'd passed their prime, their point of viable use, so to speak. Most were out of boredom, testing the limits and parameters of ones mind. My friend who liked his prostitutes, who inadvertently slept with his sister for example—I do not like those that would turn evidence against me. He had to be silenced. Rebecca completed her mission—dreadfully sorry about your _partner_, Bosco, was it? Hardy, he was a simple fool. Got him self killed for being a greedy bastard, but that proved to me that our dear Patrick had some sense of a heart, as he killed Hardy to save you. There were collateral damages, as you know. I think the ones you wish to know of would be the infamous Angela Jane and Charlotte, correct?"

She looked away. She was an easy read anyway.

"You see, he was not this sad, soulful, childlike boy you see him as—as someone who needs redeeming, Teresa. He was an arrogant, hard, caustic man as I was at one time, and he profited immensely off of his bragging ventures and name-calling diatribes. He did not see the _value_ of what he had, and he did not _understand_ until it was gone."

She could read between the lines. They were only half speaking of the female Jane's now. _She _was another lesson for Jane to learn.

"You law enforcement types believe we have no impulse control. I did not kill unless I deemed it necessary for my very protection. I am not an animal. I've had my reasons, Panzer and that dreadful female psychic that likened herself to Patrick, Kristina Frye, was it? Killing her would have been easy. But there would have been no fun in that; she was something I used to prove the depths of my pull on low thresholds. And I needed to groom a messenger."

"Messenger? Is that what Rosalind Harker was…"

He smiled, a true smile at that, full of nostalgia. "Rosalind was another beautiful thing, Teresa. One I miss, very much, and think of fondly. But no, she was just a kind soul who could not see the darkness. Carter was my messenger. I spent months grooming him; he was one of my most loyal acolytes. I wanted Timothy Carter to convey my deepest sympathies, my requests, to Patrick. I wanted to retire, killing is a young man's sport, and I'm getting older. His obsession with me is ruining his life, you of all know this, Teresa. You're what, forty now? He could have built a _life _with you. You could have children now, living comfortably in a house in Sacramento. He has had a decade to claim a life with you, and yet, here you are."

She broke one of her vows in that moment. The tears could not be stopped, and she did nothing to hide them.

"Stop it," she huffed.

He nodded, returning his attention to his plate.

"What's your real identity then, why all this cloak and dagger misdirection?"

"Everyone likes a little mystery. It was fun pulling the strings. Every clue and name your team acquired was one I carefully placed. It's like chess, you see, and I do love chess. I even tried to convince a friend of yours to join me, Brett Stiles. The old cult leading fool turned me down! I was rather put out by his rejection, but as you can see, I found it easy to find my own followers. It's easy to offer the down and out a way to the light. It's easy to offer someone a new and better life. Look at Lorelei, she was a lowly street walker, sleeping with evil men for a pittance before I gave her a new life." John sat back, really looking at her. "As for my name…I've had many. I've been many people, good and bad. But my birth name, one I changed repeatedly due to the help of a very good forger, is Simon Wilder. Don't fret though, you will find nothing, not even a grade card with my name on it."

Lisbon took another sip of her wine, pacing herself. "I didn't think I would, besides, the only reason you're telling me any of this is because we both know I'm not walking out of here tonight."

"You're actually prepared to die for him, it's a lot like Romeo and Juliet, you know. But let's not be hasty. I find you appealing, Teresa. I think I could possibly bring you into the fold with a few titular persuasions."

It was her turn to laugh. "Yea, right, maybe in another lifetime." She forgot for a moment she was mocking a serial killer, but one glance at his face proved her truthful statement amused him.

"We shall see Teresa. More strong willed souls than yours have succumbed to my charm. I'm very good to my people—so long as they are loyal to me. I could give you anything your lovely little heart desires. I can remove obstacles, I can hand out promotions, I can give you a mansion, an island, a way out of your life, if you so choose."

She eyed him, and the strangely comfortable staring contest caused a pang in her heart. What she wanted was something that could not be given with the snap of fingers, the exchange of money. What she wanted made her the fool.

And he knew it.

"You're one of the few good ones, then. Someone like you will never be impressed by delusions of grandeur. It's what makes you a good person, and a good cop. I've watched you for years Teresa: you take self-sacrificing to a whole new level. It's admirable, but sad. I'm not discounting your choices, but you are possibly one of the loneliest creatures I've ever seen. You cannot tell me someone as lovely as you hasn't had options because we both know you'd be lying. You're waiting for him. But, my dear Teresa, he is not waiting for you."

She knew he was right, but she held on so tightly to that small inkling of hope that he would see her. There were times she wished to be mortally injured, just to see his reaction. If the last few months were any indication, she would be waiting a very long time for him to so much as look at her. He didn't know how much it hurt, to be forced so cruelly out of his life.

"I know," she whispered. "I know."

XOX

They'd arrived. Jane practically jumped the last five feet from the helicopter before the pilot had settled the bird on the ground. Cho held him back with a threatening stare, one that said they needed him in one piece.

"SWAT is still about twenty minutes out," Rigsby yelled, waving the phone.

Jane turned, seeing the mansion about a half mile off.

She was so, so close. He could feel her presence like a tickling at the back of his neck.

XOX

"You still have one last question, Teresa."

All of the food had been removed. Or he'd just waved the waiter off, due to the lack of actual eating. She was sure the A-List chef was in fits, and smiled internally at the thought.

She could no longer sit, too anxious, too like Jane in the moment. She could tell he was close, could feel Jane somewhere close, like a beacon. But her final question was important. Lisbon leaned against the balcony's thick stone, biting her lip in concentration. John, or Simon Wilder, or whoever he was, stood after her—she credited the serial killer for his manners. It made her wonder about herself: he was the kind of man she would have brought home to her mother and father, the kind of good, possibly church-going, parent-loving boy they would have mooned over if her life had gone differently. Of course, there were many things that would have gone differently, to be sure. If her mother hadn't died in the drunk-driving accident, if her father had not succumbed to alcohol and suicide as an escape, if she hadn't had to raise three brothers, if she'd decided to become a school counselor instead of a cop…

So many ifs, and no way to change them.

She settled on her question, squaring her shoulders to face the mad man. She swallowed, but there was a confidence in her voice, even if it was false. "What would it take, to let Jane live?"

Red John smiled. "Well Teresa, that is easy. What I've been offering all along, my dear. You. If you choose to stay, I will end this feud without bloodshed. He will live, and so will you. There is another option, though this one is highly doubtful and suspect to failure. If my dear friend Patrick decides to stay, then you are free to go in peace, be on your merry way. One way or another, I must have one of you. Otherwise, I make no promises."

"I need to think about it," she said quietly.

He took two strides to the elegantly dressed Teresa Lisbon, placing his hands on either side of her arms, and she tensed. He leaned in too close for her taste, and a deceptively icy, cold tone overcame his once casual voice.

"You have until your team bursts through my pricey, imported mansion doors, Teresa. I expect your answer by then."

He left her standing on the balcony with her decisions.

She remembered, then, the glass shard up her sleeve, literally.

There were many ifs in this situation…

…Ifs she _could _change…

XOX

Jane was positively animalistic by the time SWAT arrived, angry and fierce and out for blood.

Cho's dark looks and Grace's soothing touches did nothing for his rabid state of mind. He had a horrible feeling sinking in his stomach. They had to get her now, he knew.

There was no more waiting.

They were moving now.

XOX

The odd collection of partygoers seemed still, unmoved, as if nothing had changed and they were frozen in time, since she had been entertained by the devil himself.

They chattered amongst themselves quietly, some in languages she couldn't begin to identify. He was not kidding when he said his reach was vast. This man thought he was God himself though. Giving and taking as he saw fit.

For a moment, she, too, had been captivated by that lulling, dream-like glamour. But his touch and his tone spoke volumes of hell, the kind frozen over, and she woke.

Woke to realize the nightmare.

She clenched the glass shard again, reopening the fresh cuts, waking herself even more. Jane's hypnotism had been gentle; this was something altogether dark and different. Her skin crawled.

She hid herself in the dark enclave. She could see everything from her position, but they could not see her. She heard a loud bang; it echoed across the floor. They were breaching the "pricey imported mansion doors" then. She wanted to laugh and cry, wanted to throw her arms around Jane.

He wanted her answer by the time this occurred, but she realized he was nowhere to be seen.

SWAT was here too—she watched as three flash-bangs rolled almost harmlessly into the party room—she was unprotected, and could do nothing but slam her hands, before she realized she had glass in one, over her ears.

Tears pricked her eyes and she felt disoriented as the flash-bangs reverberated in her ears, the ringing positively horrible. She dropped the only weapon she had in the onslaught. The glass piece shattered into tiny specks. She could hear the screaming of the minions and patrons, all a chaotic jumble.

She had to move out of the way. She was dressed too similarly, and the words _friendly fire_ crossed her mind briefly as she narrowly avoided a sudden flying bullet. Lisbon stumbled, awkwardly, trying to find footing in her dizzying movements.

She grasped for anything solid, but someone yanked her hair, hard. She rolled, kneecapping whoever was above her. She heard the female shriek: Lorelei. So she was wrong after all.

Teresa felt a sharp pain slice through her foot—Lorelei managed to recover quickly—the same blade she'd held to her spine had been drawn deeply across her foot.

Lisbon once again kicked out with her opposite leg, and received a stab that grazed her stomach. She was still too disoriented to fight properly; Lorelei was doubling already, overpowering the agent quickly. Lorelei was straddling her, kneeling painfully on her right arm, leaning in closely, a finger to her lips in a quiet "hush."

Teresa reached for anything she could. The table was too far out of her grasp, and she tried pulling at the tablecloth. Lorelei smirked, making a gash across Lisbon's right cheek before pulling the knife back. Back, and up, above her, ready to slam the blade into her chest.

Lisbon's eyes closed and she braced herself. All she could think of was Jane and her team, and hope they were all still okay.

She felt Lorelei fall heavily.

Her eyes opened jarringly, head lolling to see the witch's throat had been cut deeply.

Red John smirked. Knife in hand.

"Your answer, Teresa?"

XOX

_They can keep me alive_

_'Til I tear the walls_

_'Til I slave your hearts_

_And they take your souls_

_And what have we done?_

_Can it be undone?_

_In the evil's heart_

_In the evil's soul_


	4. Seven Devils

A/N: Seriously, so much fun writing this…thanks for the reviews! **never fear, there WILL be an epilogue! I'm SUCH a sucker I swear.

**Flesh & Blood**

_As I'm falling to pieces_

_I'm falling to pieces_

_Falling to pieces_

_I'm falling to pieces_

_Falling to pieces…_

XOX

When they burst through the doors, he'd never felt a rush of relief so powerful, followed immediately by a sense of utter disgust and foreboding as they were assaulted by roses and masked patrons…patrons that were subtly armed.

They managed to react faster than the mask-wearing minions, and guns were poised at the ready. SWAT held him back; tossing flash-bangs into the room before anyone could even react.

Even the team, prepared for the sound, was jarred.

Lisbon was somewhere in the melee, unprepared, unarmed, and floundering and he knew it.

And of course, Jane being Jane, ever so carefully snuck off in search of the missing Teresa Lisbon. Though rarely a violent man, despite his waxing poetic of his revenge and murder as if it were nothing more than simple conversation fodder, he'd procured a small handgun for this very meeting, hidden away from the prying eyes of her team.

Never bring a knife to a gunfight, and the like, he thought bitterly.

Finding her was proving difficult. Everyone, the women especially, all seemed clothed in the same red dresses, diversifying them was near impossible in the dim candlelight. He searched for any familiar movement, a punch or a kick, even searched for Lorelei, ready to gut her for taking Lisbon away—but nothing. Nothing.

The gunfire began.

Both sides began falling. He dropped, looking through hooded eyes for any sign of her. He watched as a man in a black suit, the only one outfitted differently than the rest, who wore blood red costumes, walk calmly through an archway. Jane tensed.

Red John.

XOX

She could barely breathe, too stunned by the strange turn of events, of Lorelei's gushing neck right beside her, coating her arms with sticky, dark blood. Alive one moment, gone the next. She'd never had the pleasure of someone she knew murdered so violently in front of her. The woman was a true horror, and not on Lisbon's Christmas card list by any means, but not even she deserved that fate.

Her heart beat furiously, the edges of her vision blackening. She was going into shock, she knew, and tried to breathe through her nose slowly. Her calm was shattered though. So far gone now, she wondered if she'd ever stop trembling.

She felt him yank her up forcefully by the arm that Lorelei had knelt on so heavily, and could not resist the shriek that left her mouth as pain vibrated through her bones and veins. Lisbon was sure something was torn, a ligament, a muscle, something. Regardless, it was a useless limb now and he read that quickly with a grim smile.

"Your answer, Teresa, now!" He bit out sharply, nose inches from hers.

Her lipstick had long worn off, hair a tangled, abject mess. Her dress was slit and torn from Lorelei's knife and the awkward movements it took her to stumble to the balcony. The heels, she'd kicked those off long ago and could feel the bits of fragmented glass sticking in cruelly. But she kept her mouth shut, through it all. She was waiting. Biding her time for someone, anyone, to find her.

"My patience is wearing _very_ quickly, I need your answer, or I will gut you here and now, and I will find Patrick and do the same to him after he sees what I've done to you."

She knew there was fear in her eyes, and she could not stop that. "No," she whispered, so low he barely caught her response. "No, none of us will ever join your pathetic cult. Go screw yourself."

She expected the hard slap, across the already oozing cheek. It was as dizzying as the flash-bangs. She had no recovery time, as he pulled the already twisted arm painfully behind her back, sending the sharp shooting pinpricks through every fiber from her fingers to her shoulder. She tried to turn away, an answering blade slicing into the delicate flesh of her neck.

Teresa tensed then, any sudden movements would leave her as well off as Lorelei Martins.

But why not gut her then? Her green eyes jumped around, searching for a reason he made no move to kill her then and there.

Oh.

Because Patrick Jane stood in front of the pair, gun raised.

"Ah, about time you arrived."

XOX

Patrick had bided his time, following the black suited man he'd identified as Red John through the shadowed enclave.

Watched in horror as he pulled the knife across Lorelei's neck and let her drop. Watched as he yanked a woman off the floor, and the familiar shriek that woman elicited drove a stake through his heart and fueled his rage. A whispered conversation, and then Teresa, the little spitfire of a cop must have royally pissed off the notorious serial killer because the resounding slap echoed in the small enclave.

She spun like a broken ballerina, before he pulled her back once more.

That was when Patrick made his presence known.

The mad man laughed in response. _Expecting him_.

Lisbon's eyes darted about, clearly confused as to why she was being strangled with a knife and not just dead. Her left arm the only free appendage, seemed to search for anything to hold on to—Red John was taller than she, and without realizing seemed to lift her off the floor until only her tip toes touched the ground.

Their eyes, sky blue to ocean green, connected for a brief moment in time before the knife was pulled tighter and hers rolled skyward.

"We've been waiting for you Patrick. See, I gave our lovely Teresa a bargain that she turned down. It was her that asked what she could do to let you live, what it would take. I told her all I wanted was for her to join me. If not her, then you. So I ask you the same, then."

"Why do you want me to join you so badly? Loyalties running a little low lately?" Jane asked, nodding to Lorelei's body.

Red John laughed, shrugged. "One could say that. I don't exactly approve of freelancers. I like to do my own work, it's far more honest."

"Why Teresa?"

Another shrug. "Oh, we both know the answer to that. In fact, so does she. She practically came _willingly_ to this party. Barely put up a fight according to our dearly departed girl. She's a lot more perceptive than you give her credit for, or you're losing your touch. Either way, she was my best hand, so to speak. All cards on the table, I learned quite a bit about the two of you tonight. I'm surprised that your stint in Vegas didn't tear the two of you to pieces—that proves something."

Patrick ground his teeth in agitation, panic setting in when he noticed Lisbon's motion was becoming languid and slow as the knife dug into her skin. She'd stopped reaching for anything solid, instead her left arm hung limply and her pallor was blanching. "Please, she's not a part of this."

"I'll let her go when you let me go. You really need to give up this desperate desire to kill me, Patrick. Look at what you're missing, right here," the mad man said, gesturing to Lisbon. "You heard what poor Timothy told you, I only wanted the best for you. You've become something of a brother to me, and a brother wants what is best. Let this go, Patrick."

Jane shook his head slowly, he'd spent to many years, too much time, planning for this day to just let it go, he knew, advancing a half step. Red John smirked, stepping back to the balcony railing.

"Don't make me take her from you too Patrick. I already taught you that lesson once. I thought you'd learned the value of loving what you had."

A sudden scream echoed in the chaos of the ballroom behind them. He realized he could smell smoke.

All those candles. With the amount of roses and tablecloths and rugs, the flames would be running rampant in a matter of minutes.

They had to move this along. Or they'd all go down together.

XOX

"Where's Jane?" Van Pelt called over the din of people and the hail of bullets. Cho looked behind him where the man had been moments before.

"Dammit, he's gone. Probably went off to look for Boss!" Cho yelled back. They hadn't expected this level of chaos, or the armory the minions were packing. Rigsby already had been clipped by one stray bullet, a flesh wound, but too close to home. Grace had sharpened her focus after that.

SWAT was fairing better, but not by much.

They'd cleared the top floors, rounding up Red John's friends that had not made it downstairs. The arrests were already in the teens. Many of the masked were being slowly revealed as political affiliates, DA's, governors, lawyers, and a myriad of foreign nationals.

People with power.

Van Pelt watched as one of the partygoers fell limply into a table lined with rows of candles. In slow motion the rugs lit, the deep red rose petals curled in on themselves and crumpled into ash as the flames took them. The heavy draped curtains would be next.

"Fire!" she screamed.

XOX

"Looks like we'll all burn together then," Jane said darkly, noticing the unease and displeasure take over the serial killer's face.

"It's a shame, I quite liked this house."

Jane stopped, wondering at the man before him, gun faltering. "You did this on purpose. You _wanted _us to find you. Your followers in there are dying; your loyalists, and you set them up to take this fall. Your mansion is burning, your people are dying, and you don't care."

"So what is your question, Patrick?"

"Why? Why do all of this? Why do any of it?"

"Hmph, your Teresa asked me that earlier. I told her it was to prove a point."

Jane glared at him. "And what would your point be?"

"The point, Patrick, is that I am done. I've grown bored of our game, and this is my final move. I give you my kingdom, my people, and my surrender," he said oddly. "Checkmate is yours."

"And what do you get in return?" Patrick demanded.

He smiled, this time it was real. "My freedom."

Before Jane could react, gun hanging somewhat limply at his side, Red John pushed Lisbon away towards Jane, loosing her from the knife's cruel grip. He anticipated Jane rushing to Teresa, and his suspicion was not unfounded.

Jane barely looked up, grasping the unconscious woman in his arms, with Red John smiling, perched on the balcony's edge. Jane raised the gun, but something in him made him lower it. And in that second, Red John fell from the ledge.

"NO!" He screamed angrily, but it was drowned by the screams from inside and the flames engulfing the massive estate. He'd have time to reflect on his lost chance later; now he picked up Lisbon, dodging a burning curtain rod that came swinging down, blocking the balcony he'd just emerged from.

The smoke was thick, black, dominating. His eyes were filled instantly, and he had no way to cover his mouth and nose. His movements were already becoming sluggish as he tried to hurriedly escape the fire. His soul focus now was getting her out. He had too. He didn't have a choice.

She was all he had.

The smoke was crippling and the flames licked his heels and bit at his flesh. His hair was singed, he could smell it; and her long, heavy dress was slowing him down tremendously.

"Patrick! Jane!'

He could hear them calling him, and he smiled, tripping over turned tables and things he wished and hoped were chairs. He felt strong arms grab at him from all angles, pulling him forward into more darkness before falling to the ground.

He could breathe, gasping for the pure air and coughing it back out while his lungs screeched.

She was taken from his arms, and he could do nothing to hold her.

Gone, again.

XOX

Lucky.

That's what they were told they were. All of them.

Lucky SOB's on someone's good side.

The bullet that grazed Rigsby's shoulder would heal nicely. Cho's black eye was swollen shut but would be fine—he'd taken a nice punch from a beefy DA—before severely incapacitating said DA. Van Pelt had come out relatively unscathed except for a few first degree burns on her pale arms attempting to put a fire out on a suspect.

Jane would be coughing black soot out of his lungs for at least another week, and was still hooked up to the clean oxygen tank.

This prevented none of them from remaining in the waiting room, desperate to hear news on their Boss.

Between the sliced foot, cheek, and the deep gash in her neck, and the one shallow stab Lorelei managed to her stomach; the hard slap from Red John and her own smoke inhalation, and the torn ligaments in her right arm, the shock her body had gone into put her into a coma. It had been three days, and the doctors were optimistic, but were keeping a steady eye on her.

Through Jane's masterful manipulation—or rather, persistent irritating threats—they'd moved him to the room next to hers. Anything to get the blonde man to shut up was a blessing to the doctors and nurses, and the team had found it quite amusing as they'd witnessed the whole mess.

Jane was currently pretending to be sleeping in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs when a nurse tapped his shoulder gently.

"Any news?" he asked quickly, gripping the chair's arms. She shook her head, sitting next to him. It was one of the [only] nurses that found him charming. She was young, pretty—Amy was the name on her tag, and she loved pink scrubs—all she'd worn for the last three days they'd been lingering at the hospital.

"She's stable. But now that you're doing better, we have papers you'll need to fill out."

He tilted his head in question. "I already filled them out."

"These are for Teresa Lisbon. You're her next of kin and her power of attorney," the nurse replied slowly. Gathering from the odd expression on his face, it was clear he was rather confused. "You…didn't know?"

He shook his head. "No, I didn't. But…thanks."

"We have her personal effects too. The dress and the necklace," she said more carefully, handing him the bag with the shredded dress and the ruby cross. She smiled softly, standing up. "Just bring the papers by when you're done," she leaned in, whispering, "If you'd like to go in, I won't stop you. I'll tell the staff you got the drop on me"

With a wink, she was disappearing around the corner. His smile was small; he certainly liked nurse Amy—her bedside manner would make her great with children—pediatrics was definitely in her future.

His attention turned back to the papers and the bag that was surely evidence…but what kind of evidence, he wasn't sure. He opened it, curious more than anything. The dress was expensive Italian silk, and it had looked stunning on her, he thought, reflecting on the unused dresses hanging in her closet. He would have to make sure she got some use out of them, soon.

The ruby cross made him angry though. It proved they'd known all along that she'd left hers for him to find. It was a pricey, tawdry, gaudy replacement compared to her elegant, simple gold cross.

He massaged his forehead, the panging headaches a side effect of the smoke inhalation. From his vest pocket he removed the very gold cross he was thinking of. The jeweler had been able to fix the chain, happily for him.

He sighed, looking up at the still sleeping form of Teresa Lisbon through the hospital glass. Her room may as well have been a small florist shop. Between the team, a reluctant, very annoyed director Bertram, the Brother's Lisbon and Annie, and even some of the SWAT team, the surfaces were covered with daisies, tulips, daffodils, and her favorite, from him, white Easter lilies.

He'd made sure that not a single rose was brought into the room. It would be a cold day in hell before he'd ever want to see the offending flower again.

Jane was quite sure she agreed.

Cho had been calling with updates, but there was no sign of Red John's body below the balcony. The bastard had gotten away, and he'd let him.

He'd had his chance, but it would have come with the cost of Teresa, and he would not have been able to live with himself.

All he could hope was that the maniacal serial killer kept his promise: that he was done, had surrendered his kingdom and his serfs to Jane for his freedom. Deep down, Jane knew the man's freedom was a small price to pay for Teresa's life. He'd mulled for days on Red John's words, driving himself half crazy before wandering if maybe Lisbon had the answers locked in her sleeping mind.

He could only wait now.

XOX

Van Pelt's arms stung as she typed, but she pushed through the pain. She'd been in far worse, and wanted the paperwork done so that Lisbon would not have to worry about anything when she returned.

The clicking of the keys was the only sound in the empty office this late at night. It made her long for Jane to tell her that paperwork was giving her wrinkles; Rigsby would be picking her up in twenty minutes anyway.

She took a long gulp of her coffee—her third cup in as many hours, realizing she was becoming as bad as Lisbon with her caffeine consumption. Half way through her sentence the computer screen flickered, turning black.

"What the—"

A familiar name appeared at the top. Followed by another. And another. Until a list of names she'd either recognized, heard before, or never heard of at all covered the black screen in vibrant white letters.

"Oh, my…" she trailed off, reading through them all. The end of the list was signed with a familiar moniker from many years ago, and it took everything in her not to run. She surely did not feel safe where she sat. It was the list of moles within the CBI, FBI, police…she shuddered, unbelieving.

And Red John himself had sent it.

XOX

Jane finally worked up the courage to cross the threshold into her room. He had not been this scared in years, staring at her small form swallowed by thin blankets.

His tactics had failed him. Pushing her away had made her a bigger target. He was a fool. All that lost time, finding ways to avoid her, desperately searching for Lorelei, for answers…all for nothing.

All that nothing had left him with smoke filled lungs, a comatose friend, and a serial killer still on the lam. Ten steps back it was.

And he was tired. Tired of fighting her, of fighting to find Red John—the man was right about one thing, they were becoming too old for this game. It was endless and it would not bring him the satisfaction he wanted. He'd had the gun raised, had his opportunity. And in that moment, she'd been more important.

That was his answer right there.

He'd choose her, every time, no matter what he said.

His resolve crumbled, resting his head on her bed. It had been awhile since he'd cried, but this time he cried for her, his family, but not for himself. He'd been selfish for too long. He could apologize until the day he died, but his family had forgiven him a long time ago, and Teresa would tell him there was nothing to apologize to her for in the in the first place.

He grasped her left, uninjured hand in his, the gold cross resting between their entwined fingers, and slept.

XOX

He woke in the morning with fingers in his hair, gently toying with the flattened curls. Confused, he opened his eyes slowly.

She was awake. He couldn't stop the smile that split his face.

"Hey Sleeping Beauty," he said smartly. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came, and she removed her hand from his hair to tap her throat. Water. Right.

He pressed the call button, hoping they sent Amy, and grabbed the water from the table. He filled it halfway, stuck the straw in and held it to her lips. She winced as she sipped it.

"Yeah, it's gonna hurt for a couple days. I'm still coughing up black soot. It's pretty, let me tell you," he said jokingly. She raised an eyebrow in response, a bit confused. Right, she didn't know about the fire.

"Ah, she awakes," Amy said, smiling. Jane met her smile with a nod. "I feel like I should ask you if he's always so…demanding, agitating…"

Lisbon smirked. "Worse," she managed hoarsely.

"Figured," Amy laughed. "He's certainly given the doctors and nurses a run for their money. They sent me because I'm the only one can deal with his _shenanigans_, according to Dr. Procter that is. He'll be by in a bit, but Mr. Jane will have to leave. Those are his terms."

Lisbon turned to Jane. "What did…you do?"

"Don't worry your pretty head about it Teresa," he said, smiling. "Amy, I thought we were friends? Your words wound me."

Amy rolled her eyes, checking Lisbon's vitals. "Looks good. Like I said, Dr. Procter will be by in a bit to check your arm. For now you should still get some rest."

Amy checked a few things on her chart before leaving them again.

Lisbon realized Jane was avoiding her gaze. "Red John…"

Jane frowned deeply, still avoiding. She noticed he hadn't been hauled away in cuffs, which meant either it had been self defense, or…

"Gone?" she asked carefully. The pain that flashed across his face told her as much. "Sorry."

He looked up at her, angrily. "No, don't be sorry. I…I had the chance, but…"

Her green eyed gaze bore into him quizzically. She had not remembered much of the conversation after Red John pulled back tighter, cutting off her breath. Now that she was awake she began to feel all the stinging pain; she moved to touch her bandaged cheek, sure there would be a scar thanks to Lorelei. But he grabbed for her hand reflexively, curling her small fingers in his.

"It's not as bad as you think it is," he said shyly. She nodded once.

"Thanks…for my necklace."

He realized it was still in her palm. He took it, pulling her hair to the front, clasping the gold chain around her neck.

"Back where it belongs," he said quietly, stroking her collarbone where he rested the charm.

She moved to say something but was cut off by Van Pelt, standing in the doorway nervously. Teresa smiled warmly, but the woman only gave her a stiff, quick grin, and found her face matched the blanket on her bed. Jane looked at Van Pelt. Something was wrong.

Jane squeezed Lisbon's fingers tightly, before getting up to follow Van Pelt into the hallway.

"What is it Grace."

She shook her head, handing him the list she'd printed. "I got this, early this morning. No one else was in the office but me. It just appeared on the screen Jane. It's…it's…"

"It's the list of moles," he said, more than a bit awed. He, like Grace, recognized more than a third of the names. "Does anyone—"

"No, just me, Cho, and Rigsby. Now you. Why would he sell them out Jane?"

"Because he's done."

He smiled a bit, looks like they'd be cleaning house soon.

XOX

Teresa did not like being kept out of whatever secret loop was happening. She was frustrated enough being kept in the hospital for physical therapy, and was sick of being poked and prodded by doctors. She would not break. She wanted to scream at Jane every time he looked at her with wounded, sorry eyes. Wanted to yell at Grace and Cho and Rigsby for not telling her the whole truth all the while casting knowing glances around at each other.

She knew Red John was on the lam. That was clear. But this cloak and dagger, keep-Lisbon-out-of-the-loop, was driving her mad.

Plus, she was due to leave the hospital today. Her arm still hurt like hell. Putting on her shirt was proving difficult. She wasn't even able to clasp her bra. It was worse than when O'Laughlin had shot her—it had been her left arm at least then. She needed her right arm, if anything, to punch Jane in the nose the next time he tried to play keep away. Hell, she didn't even know if she could go home. Her own blood was on the wall of her bedroom. She felt like the evil man had violated her life.

"Lisbon," came a gentle tapping at the bathroom door. Jane. He'd said he was the one taking her home. She was frustrated, and the frustration had turned into angry tears. "Teresa, are you alright?"

"No," she said quietly, sniffing.

"Is it okay if I come in?" he asked hesitantly. She sighed heavily. She wasn't getting her bra or her shirt on her by herself, and she really hated that she hadn't asked Van Pelt to take her home.

She opened the door tentatively. "I swear to God, Jane, if you so much as laugh or look or make any comment I will make you bleed."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." He came in with hands raised, edging in behind her in the small bathroom.

He realized the lack of use her right arm was proving was not exactly helpful in allowing her to dress. She sniffed, still frustrated.

"I can't even put a shirt on," she said laughingly. He knew it wasn't funny though. "I can't wear shoes because there was glass in my feet, I can barely swallow without coughing, and that crazy bitch ruined my face," she heaved bitterly, as he silently clasped her bra, and picked up the discarded button down tee from the floor. She would have to vent eventually, better sooner than later.

He maneuvered her right arm gently into the sleeve taking precautions not to inflict any more pain, followed by the left, noting the wound in her stomach that had thankfully missed any vital organ. He pulled the shirt over her shoulders to begin buttoning it, but she put a hand over his.

"Why won't you tell me what happened on the balcony?" she demanded. "You seem eager to share with the rest of the team, but not me. Why?"

"Because it's not important," he said.

"It's important to me. He got away. Which means, you chose me over him. You can't tell me that isn't a big deal, Patrick."

He managed to button the bottom before looking up at her. "It's more like, he knew what my actions would be, and judged their accuracy. And he was right."

She rolled her eyes, sick of it all. "Whatever, Jane. God forbid you admit you care enough about me to not go after him."

He stopped at her words. The anger and pain from before were back. He bunched the shirt in his fists, which pulled her towards him. "Don't tell me I don't care about you Teresa. I _care_ plenty, don't think for a moment I don't. Otherwise I would have let you die on that balcony and gone after him. I had him. For a moment, and I _let_ him go. I carried you through the fire, I got you out, because I cared more about you then I cared about killing him."

He let her shirt go, blue eyes blazing, buttoning the rest in silence, before pushing through the bathroom door and leaving her alone with her thoughts.

She didn't know what to say, really. She' been angry for days, at everyone and everything, and forgotten in her anger that this had been more about him than her. She hadn't lost her family to a mad man. It wasn't her place to think only of herself. Not when he was suffering reopened wounds. She was never the real target. Just the bait.

All her abduction had culminated in was Red John, once again, escaping, slipping through their fingers.

As he had over and over again. But there was something about Jane's calm that made her think he wasn't telling her a part of this supposed escape story.

She'd find out. For her own sanity, she had too.

XOX

The ride home was silent. She'd drifted off in the first twenty minutes.

His crappy blue car had managed to lull her into a strange sleep. The blissfully dreamless kind.

She was jarred awake when they came to a sudden stop. It was dark out, evening. She looked at the clock—it had to be wrong. Her house was maybe forty minutes from the hospital, and the clock said they'd driven for nearly six hours.

"Jane, are you kidnapping me? I've had enough of that for a lifetime I promise," she said sleepily.

He had to smile at that. "Funny, I was thinking you'd slipped back into a coma. You slept all the way here."

"And here is…." She looked out the window. Oh. The Malibu house. She nodded, sitting back.

"I put it on the market," he said carefully, hands still on the wheel, seatbelt still buckled. They had not driven all the way here for him to tell her that. "It was time to let it go. Let them go."

She gazed at him curiously. What _had_ they talked about on that balcony?

"Teresa…he sent Van Pelt the list of his informants. Right now there's at least thirty-two people in law enforcement positions alone going to jail. He told me he was giving up, that he was retiring from the game. He said he was surrendering his kingdom and all his people to me. I didn't get it until now," he paused, turning to her. "The reason he jumped off the balcony, it wasn't just to get away. It's the best way to stop looking for someone, believing they're dead. He told me as much, that he wouldn't be bothering us again."

"And you believe him," she said, more a statement than a question.

"I don't really have a choice. There were things he said…they only make sense now. He could have killed you; he had the power to do that and the will, so why not? Why kill my wife and my child, but let you live?"

She swallowed the building lump. She was hoping he wouldn't hate her for living, fault her for being Red John's only surviving victim. "Because you learned your lesson," she said, barely audible even in the quiet car, and not really meant to be heard by him at all.

He took his seatbelt off, getting out of the car. She unbuckled hers as well, struggling a bit. He didn't go to the house as she expected, but walked to the beach instead. She followed after him.

She kicked off her shoes, the grass soft and damp on her cut feet, before padding into the sand.

He was twirling his wedding band in his hand, she realized, tracing it with his fingertips, as if memorizing it. Or remembering it.

Teresa tentatively placed her left hand on the small of his back, comfortingly, happy when he neither tensed nor pulled away. "What's going on in your head Jane?"

"He's erasing himself. Pretending he doesn't exist. It's not fair that he gets away with it. We don't get to do that. We don't get to start over Teresa." He says, clenching the gold ring in his fist. His eyes scream sadness and regret and she wants nothing more than to hug him.

She shrugged slightly, commenting, "I don't know about that. In a way we do. Think about it, Red John let me live, like you said, he didn't have too. He could have taken me with him; he could have killed me at any point throughout that day. He had that opportunity dozens of times. But I don't think he would have, Jane. The way he talked…he wouldn't have killed me Jane. He wouldn't have killed you either."

"Why do you say that?"

"Our conversations…it led me to believe he was _rooting_ for us, somehow. That this whole thing was nothing more than…a lesson you needed to learn. It's backwards and cruel to be sure, and I believe he's the most irredeemable person in the world, but the way he spoke of you and me, he's spent the last decade watching us Jane, watching _us_. He sent you Timothy Carter to tell you to move on, to start over. I just…maybe we should listen, Patrick."

He had more or less learned the very hard way not to take the people you loved for granted. Red John had taken his family away to prove a point, to let go of such binding things as arrogance and greed…and revenge. He had to wonder, somewhere, looking at that list, if the case had not been intentionally handed to the woman standing next to him now. Perhaps in some deep, dark twist, _she_ was _his_ gift. He highly doubted the serial killer's matchmaking skills, no one could be that omnipresent, but he could not seem to drown that thought out completely. He'd never believed in soul mates, lumping them with psychic visions and crystal balls, not even with Angela did he believe, surrounded by lunatic circus folk. But the woman here, here with him a decade later, broken and bruised time and again, abandoned by him so startlingly and always left in the dark, often lied to and manipulated by him for his own personal gain—either she was a true glutton for a punishment like him, or she loved him, fiercely.

Maybe it was a bit of both. Even saints had their limits. He was hoping for the latter.

He spun the ring once more, making up his mind. He brought it too his lips, kissing the cooling band, now removed from the warmth of his hand, silently bidding his first love goodbye. She deserved peace, and now, so did he.

Jane wasn't sure who was more taken aback when he pulled back and tossed the gold albatross, so long heavy on his soul, into the rolling ocean waves.

She said nothing, but the stunned look on her face was less than fleeting. He appreciated her silence, knowing she had thousands of questions.

She smiled, a little proudly, maybe, when he took the hand that rested on his back and intertwined their fingers, squeezing gently.

"We have a lot to talk about, Teresa."

"That we do Patrick."

XOX

_And now all your love will be exorcised_

_And we will find your sayings to be paradox_

_And it's an even sum_

_It's a melody_

_It's a battle cry_

_It's a symphony_


	5. Emerald Infinity

A/N: The epilogue, the end. Sad, cuz I absolutely LOVED writing this. I feel like I unintentionally stole bits of Beauty and the Beast as I reread this—the Disney version, not the craptastic CW mess they call a show that should be shot with arrows and left to limp into the sunset where it belongs. I digress. So, what do we think of Kirkland? Friend or Foe? I'm feeling that he's going to be a love interest of Lisbon's, she did the little hair flippy thing not-so-subtley at the beginning of the Sunday ep, though how long he'll be around…hard to say. I'm always suspicious of new characters on shows like this. I also feel bad because I think this way because the actor that plays him is seemingly always typecast as the mysterious foe. [see Fringe, Mob Doctor, et al.]. The new lyrics are "Never Let Me Go," by Florence and the Machine…enjoy.

**Flesh & Blood**

_In the arms of the ocean_

_So sweet and so cold_

_And all this devotion I never knew at all_

_And the crashes are Heaven_

_For a sinner released_

_And the arms of the ocean_

_Deliver me…_

XOX

He had not realized how very much he missed talking to her. His friend. His soul confidant. The one and only person he'd ever really trusted.

Had not realized the damage he'd incurred upon vanishing from her life. Followed by his return, and subsequently, a different kind of disappearing altogether. He'd broken his friends heart, without shame. That was inexcusable.

She confessed that her purpose in going to her church was to pray for him. His horrible, ragged, unsaveable soul. She'd prayed for many things over the years, but he was what she prayed for most; his safe return, his ability to let go of vengeance, the simple hope that he'd just come home…to her.

Throughout their lengthy conversation—and it certainly was lengthy, as the sky had turned midnight blue and glowing stars had blanketed their view, outlining constellations they'd known forever with imaginary lines—she'd held something back from him. An emotion he couldn't identify, and he was well versed in the vast spectrum of them. Especially hers.

It was time to broach whatever it was that had her on edge.

"Teresa…" he began, having to turn her lovely face to him, since she seemed to enjoy avoiding any kind of eye contact. She still looked away, in fact. He moved a bit closer to her in the soft, grainy sand. "What are you afraid of? Are you afraid of me, for me? I told you…I won't go after him now."

She smiled grimly, and he could see her shutting down. He knew what she must have felt like…every day for the past ten years. "We didn't catch him. He isn't dead. There is always going to be a part of you deeply obsessed with that fact, Jane. You can't tell me you're not feeling it right now, honestly. He's out there, _out there_, living and breathing, and the only assurance I have that you won't run off is your word Jane."

And his word was worthless. He'd as much as proved that.

He'd told her once, long ago, that he'd always save her.

And then he'd disappeared.

Red John said he was surprised that his romp in Vegas hadn't destroyed them, but it had in its own way. He trusted her implicitly. She could not say the same. She could pray for his soul, defend him against the world. But she did not have to trust him.

He'd given her nothing to the contrary after all.

"What will it take to prove that I won't leave you? Because Teresa, I truly have no intention of leaving. I'd promise, but you wouldn't trust it. You'll nod and say you do, as is your very self-sacrificing way, but you wouldn't believe me."

"You know, I've spent so long helping you, following your crazy theories, getting you out of dangerous situations, helping you at every turn, Jane, that you've become entirely dependent upon it. On me. I've always known what you wanted, and I've asked what I can do to help more times than I care to admit. But did you ever ask me what I wanted, Jane? Or did you just assume keeping you out of jail was all I did?" She shrugged, sadly. There was no way to prove he would stay. He could lament to her about faith, in him or them or something to the like, but she'd heard it all before. She'd told herself all of it before, alone in her home. "If you'd stopped to ask me what I wanted, if you cared enough to ask…my job isn't what I wanted for my life. I wanted a family. I wanted the house, the little girl, the husband, hell even the dog. I feel like my time has come and gone. I spent too long waiting for something I knew I would never get. Something that was never mine."

That brought back what Red John had told her. The loneliest creature, he'd called her. She could have built a life with many of her past lovers—Greg, for one; there'd been that potential, they'd been so close to making it. She could have had the beautiful little girls, the boats and the loving, doting husband. She passed it up for her career, thought she had all the time in the world. There was the ever-ostentatious Mashburn, the man who'd readily give her fast cars, massive yachts, and personalized islands, to win her heart. But his childlike demeanor would have worn her out, and he certainly would have gotten bored. She'd passed him up to wait. She'd become good at waiting, in fact. She'd waited so long now, the pretty dreams of little girls and husbands and a life had withered. Red John's mocking of her age was enough to prove that.

He could say nothing to help her. "Sorry" was not an option.

It took her a moment to realize that she was crying.

Another to realize that a strong arm was pulling her in, making soft hushing sounds and trailing his hand up and down her back.

She figured he knew what she was crying about. He always seemed to.

She cried until she couldn't, feeling emptier than she should have.

Teresa Lisbon had never asked for anything from him or anyone else in her life. It wasn't out of pride. It was out of a sense of responsibility; she'd raised her brothers without help, she'd never asked for it because she knew she wouldn't receive it. She'd become a good judge of knowing that. She'd gone about saving Patrick Jane at every turn, not because he'd asked or even wanted her too, but because it was who she'd been born to be.

She didn't even know how to ask him for what she wanted now. It seemed simple enough, but it was far from it. Therefore, she would not ask.

She'd be content as his friend forever.

She'd grown accustomed to it.

To his credit, he was watching all of this play out across her face. He felt every tense thought cross her mind. He knew she would never ask for what she wanted.

In his selfish quest, he'd turned off his heart. At the beginning, anyway. Somehow she'd managed to turn it back on, slowly bringing him out of his self-imposed darkness. Patiently.

Her way of fixing him was different. It was fixing without fixing. She'd never claimed he was broken, and that made her uniquely different from any woman he'd ever met. Any person, in fact. Angela had tried to fix him, make him stop the business of lying and deceiving, but he'd brushed her off. And he'd lost her for it. But he hadn't lost Teresa. He could not be more grateful to whoever was looking out for them.

There were many things he wanted to tell her. Things that would probably startle her, or have her off and running in a second. He knew what his intentions were. It was a matter of how to break them to the levelheaded brunette now sleeping soundly in his arms.

He smiled up at the starry night sky.

He always had a plan.

Always.

XOX

She woke to the ocean waves gently lapping at her feet, drenching her dark denim jeans with salt. A heavy, pinstriped suit jacket was draped over her, and a gray vest bunched up under her head to pillow it. Both items smelled distinctively of Jane.

She adjusted slowly, mindful of her injured arm. There was no sign of the man himself, and that worried her.

His little, sky blue Citroen was still parked where they'd left it hours ago, and there were no lights on in his vacant house.

She sighed. _Maybe he's gone swimming in search of the ring he tossed so smartly into the ocean_, she thought a little harshly. Then shook her head. She shouldn't think that way. It was callous, even by her standards.

Then she noticed a piece of paper peeking out of his jacket pocket. She wondered for a moment where he got the paper and the pen, as she unfolded the note gently.

_Teresa_

_Went for a walk along the beach. Figured you needed the rest. You look rather adorable when you sleep. You also snore, but that's not the point. I'll be back in a bit; I needed to think for a little while. _

_-Patrick_

She had to smile, even if the smile was stunted by the comment of her snoring. He'd left her a note. It was proof. Not proof enough that he would stay, but proof that he'd taken the time to let her know he was coming back.

She looked back out across the wide expanse of sand and surf. She could see the appeal of living here, so close to the calm. Wondered whose idea it had been to move to the ocean, his or Angela's. She felt like it certainly had to have been Angela's, after touring around with a circus across the mid-west, the appeal of the ocean was too much to pass up. And then with Charlotte, making sandcastles and waving found seashells like fine pieces of gold; it was a perfect location for a precocious little girl.

There was always a sharp pang, a longing when she thought about children. It was all she'd wanted for some time now, and she knew the time was up. Age had destroyed that. She'd never complain though, she'd never push or mourn her biological clock. She'd thought of adopting in the past year, something she had yet to discuss with anyone, not Jane or even Grace. With everything that had happened, it only fueled her desire more.

She barely noticed her hand resting absently on her empty stomach.

XOX

He'd diverted from the beach a while ago.

His feet were carrying him to a place he had not been in years. It was a diminutive place but enchanting, outside of the city, a hidden gem, so to speak. And by years, he meant seventeen.

The little bell announced his entrance. The same man, older, now, looked up from his work.

They recognized each other, both aged by time and elements and the things out of their control. The older of the two smiled a bit sadly. He could read the strange pain on Jane's face as Jane could read the rest of the world.

"Long time," said the man.

"It really has been," Jane replied. "I'm here for—"

"A ring."

Maybe he'd met his match. He may have been a good fake psychic, but he laughingly thought Grace certainly would have gotten a kick out of the true one before him.

Jane gave a slight nod. Perhaps it was not in good taste, buying a ring for another woman at the place where he'd purchased one for his first wife, but something had to be said for familiarity and quality. He held out a small hope, right then, that Angela approved of Teresa.

He had no signs to the contrary after all.

"I'm happy that you found someone, Mr. Jane. You wouldn't be back here otherwise, and we both know that."

"This is true. Though she also has no clue. I know my intentions, but she doesn't. She believes me to be a lying Charlatan and I can't say I blame her. I already left her once. I want to prove to her that I can be better, that I want her. That I won't leave her."

"Well then, lets take a look shall we. Why don't you describe this lady too me? She must be something, to have you back here so many years later."

Jane smiled grandly, thinking proudly of his raven haired, emerald eyed, fiercely independent counterpart. "She is Ernie, oh she is," he whispered, scouring the glass cases for a ring that would fit her personality and her heart.

XOX

Hunger got her attempting to struggle to her feet. That, and a lack of caffeine.

He couldn't expect her to wait all day for his return. She fished for her cell phone, finding it had died in the middle of the night. Her arm ached and her cut cheek and neck itched terribly under their bright white bandages. She looked like a cartoon character after an anvil had been dropped on its head. The pain in her side from the one shallow stab made standing without assistance rather hard, and her feet still stung.

The painkillers swimming in her head certainly prevented her from driving.

She huffed, annoyed and stranded.

"Damn you, Patrick Jane," she bit out at the sharp pain she received in her attempt to stand.

"Really Teresa, that's not very nice."

She nearly gave herself whiplash. The bastard was looming over her. "Where the hell did you go Jane? I'm starving and I can't even stand without help!"

He dropped next to her unceremoniously. "Did you think I wouldn't come back without provisions?" he asked, handing her a massive cup of coffee. Followed then by a bag full of her favorite doughnuts and an egg wrap for himself. "Give me a little credit here."

She blushed, a little sorry for her brashness. She wanted to tell him he looked good disheveled, wearing nothing more than his pale blue button down shirt—now crusted with sand—and his pinstripe pants that matched the jacket she'd slung over her shoulders. His hair was an adorable mess, which could only mean hers was worse, and she was grateful she didn't have a mirror. He was bringing back the homeless look once again, she thought with an internal smile, but at least this time it was for her comfort and benefit.

Lisbon took a long gulp of the bitter black liquid, already feeling her mood return to normal. He observed her as she bit into one of the sugary confections, savoring every flicker of joy across her face.

He was not sure how she'd react to his statement. _Not well_ had crossed his mind, and _broken nose_ flashing brightly was another. He had to resist massaging his oft broken nose, remembering how horribly her punch had hurt the last time, and for something far less…huge.

"Jane, what's wrong? You have a funny look on your face," Lisbon said carefully, afraid to push too much but feeling, after everything she'd been through in the past week and a half, or maybe the past ten years, that she had the right. He'd been looking at her oddly since he'd returned. It was starting to give her a complex.

"I thought the worst, when I found your necklace in that church. I haven't been that terrified…ever, I think. When I found them, I knew what to expect. I knew what I would see. But even I didn't know what he had planned for you, Teresa. Would he keep you alive, or just kill you; would he torture you for my benefit, would he do nothing at all…I didn't expect him to throw some kind of twisted party or put you in a dress that costs more than four years in college," he turned away, facing the ocean. "Though I will say you looked stunning in that dress."

She raised an eyebrow, a short laugh coming from her lips. "And here I am, mentally throwing out every red item in my closet."

She meant it to be said with an air of humor, but he knew she was being truthful. She would never wear red again, and he couldn't help approving of the line of thought. Roses would forever be off limits in his mind.

"I meant it Jane, I don't think he wanted to kill me. It was more like he wanted a conversation. He answered everything I asked. The only thing I don't understand is why?" She voiced idly.

"Even I can't answer that Lisbon. I can't answer why I didn't kill him where he stood. I had the shot. I had the shot, and I couldn't take it," he looked down, sadly.

"For what it's worth, Patrick, I'm glad, and I think _they_ are too, that you didn't become him that day," she whispered gently. "By not killing him, you kept the memory of them sacred."

At some point in their quiet conversation, she'd placed her hand over his. He could feel the warmth from her palm radiate through his arm.

He locked eyes with the woman next to him, who'd given everything and more for him, asking nothing in return. It wasn't exactly what he'd planned, but then again, it had not been much of a plan in the first place. He'd gotten as far as the ring, but not the words. And now the words and the reasons failed him.

"Marry me, Teresa."

XOX

She looked stricken. Frozen in a moment of pure shock and strange distrust. Maybe the flash-bangs had torn her eardrums, and what she was hearing was a manifestation of her own making. Maybe she'd died on that balcony, and what she was experiencing was a sort of lucid dream of a life she hadn't lived. She remembered movies like this. Usually someone was sleeping. Or dead.

Patrick Jane could not, in his right mind, or hers, for that matter, have asked her to marry him.

She shook her head. "No. No. No, Jane, you don't get to do this to me," she said darkly, angrily. He couldn't be so crass as to play with her like this. They'd been through too much for him to take advantage of her state of mind. She pushed the coffee deep into the sand, pushing herself up with a painful wince and a small cry she couldn't contain at her own stupidity, forgetting the painkillers coursing through her body.

She stumbled, not caring how silly she looked, stomping away like a wronged child. Everything was tilting though; slanting before her so badly that she took a step and misjudged the distance, falling faintly to her left.

He was behind her before she realized it.

Catching her shoulders and steadying her, he held her fast against him.

"I meant it, Teresa. I meant it." He continued to whisper to her dizzying brain on a loop. He turned her to face him, and she was too weak to push away again, leaning heavily on him while his hand wound its way through her sand matted hair.

"Just listen to me. Please. And then if you want to say no, I'll accept it. I meant what I said after I came back from Vegas, before the plan fell to pieces. It hurt to take it back, it hurt to see that look on your face. It hurts that you can't trust me to stay for you. I'm done with him; I realized what I could have lost that day. If he surfaces someday, then I'll let the FBI handle it, I will personally thank Mancini if I have too. I can live without my revenge, Teresa. You're what I can't live without. I thought I proved that as much. If all I have to prove is that I won't leave you again, then marry me. You have no arguments to say that we shouldn't. I've known you longer, better, than my first wife and I were married, and we've been good friends this whole time. I've spent a decade courting you, Teresa Lisbon. So this is me, committing that I will never leave you."

She was well and truly speechless. Every argument died on her lips. He'd erased each one with pretty words and promises. She wanted to say no out of spite. But would she really be hurting anyone other than herself? This was, after all, what she wanted. Everything she wouldn't ask for.

"Why, Jane? Why now?" she found herself asking softly.

He shrugged, pulling back to hold her cheek with his palm. "Because I finally let them go. Because I _see_ you. Because I love you."

She still looked unsure. He moved his hand from her face to his pocket, procuring the black box from Ernie, holding it out for her.

Lisbon took it, gently opening the lid. The ring inside looked suspiciously almost as if it had been made for her, like Red John's custom dresses. The band was thin gold, hammered, casting a natural quality to it. It took her a moment to realize the swirling design that the band turned into, that held the glittering emerald in the center was the infinity symbol. It was nothing large, nothing ostentatious, but it was absolutely beautiful, and there'd been care taken in choosing it for her.

"Oh, Jane…" she said silently. He removed the ring, holding it out for her to take or leave.

"It's your choice Teresa. I can be your friend or I can be you husband. Either way, I'm not leaving you. And I'll never stop trying to win you."

She blinked, bit her lip.

And she smiled.

XOX

"Thank you so much Grace," Teresa Lisbon gushed to her subordinate.

Grace shook her head. "It's not a problem Boss, honestly, anytime."

Lisbon shook her head. "You've been working for me for seven years, Grace, you don't have to call me Boss in my own home, you know. We're not at work."

"Right Boss…I mean, sorry, it's just awkward," Grace said with an apologetic shrug. "Anyways, I love watching her, she is my goddaughter after all," Van Pelt said, smiling at the baby in her arms.

"Well thank you again, anyway. Patrick and I needed the night out," she said, Grace handing Lisbon her sleeping daughter.

"I need the practice anyway," Grace said slyly. She'd held back her own secret for two months, but she suspected Jane knew—and was thankful he'd kept it, even from Teresa. He'd known about Teresa's and his daughter before Lisbon had.

Lisbon's head snapped up, all attention on the red head.

"Really?" she asked gleefully. Van Pelt nodded, flushing brightly. Patrick had won his bet on them almost a year and a half ago, when he'd confirmed her long standing suspicions. The ceremony between Grace and Wayne was quiet, but drew a crowd—all of Grace's brothers, cousins, and family had somehow miraculously appeared for the wedding. Teresa had, once again, been her bridesmaid, but had gotten to choose her own dress this time, hindered by her own pregnancy.

Lisbon hugged the red head fiercely. Jane chose that moment to come in, carrying leftovers from the restaurant with him.

"Ah, so she finally told you then. Congratulations Van Pelt," Patrick said nonchalantly. He put three fingers to his forehead, closing his eyes. "I predict a boy is in your future."

Grace laughed. "Thank you, oh all seeing one," she said wryly. "Anyways, I should head out. Wayne's been crazy since he found out. Bye Catherine," she said to the sleeping baby, giving a parting wave to the Jane's before leaving.

"How is our little lady over here," Jane whispered, coming to stand behind his wife. He reached out, stroked the dark, curling baby hairs. She'd received Lisbon's facial features and hair, and Jane's crystal blue eyes. She would be beautiful. Her personality though, that was up for debate. It seemed she'd inherited both parent's tricks and trades already. "You know, She's almost two," he said impishly. "Maybe she'd like a playmate."

Lisbon shook her head. Catherine had been nothing short of a miracle. Her doctors had waxed and warned about having a baby at her age, the stress it would cause, the possibility of losing her daughter. Forty-two was not a prime age to have another baby. Sure, she'd been far easier to conceive then they'd initially thought, not shortly after their small wedding did she find out about their unexpected joy. But she was fine with a solitary miracle, if she was never able to have another. She had her husband, her job, her life, her beautiful little girl.

"I'm happy with her, Patrick. If we try and fail, or try and lose…I don't think either of us could handle that," she said sadly.

He smiled. "I know, Teresa. I couldn't be happier either. But there's no sense in not playing the game. You never know," he said, kissing her forehead. She sighed heavily. He knew he'd won.

"Okay."

XOX

Patrick Jane was rarely, if ever, wrong. If another pink baby shower was any indication, he was a very happy man.

Teresa may not have been nearly as happy—as she'd been rendered to bed rest three months before she was due just in case, as the doctors said, of any complications. They hadn't run into any yet, except for Catherine constantly running around the house and finding no one could keep up with her. She'd also learned how to pull the chair over and open the door into the backyard. Somewhere she wasn't supposed to go without Jane by her side.

As it was, Teresa was opening the gifts from Grace and Wayne, both toting a freckled William and Benjamin, now five. Cho sat rather awkwardly, avoiding—or trying to avoid—the gleeful exclamations of the clan of Lisbon Brother's wives, a few friends from the office, and Grace. He remained the ever stoic, impassionate seeming man, but he was secretly happy for his Boss—she'd finally gotten what she'd wanted.

After Catherine, she'd moved up the ranks, to the chagrin of Bertram but at the behest of _his_ boss, she took over as the Head of the Serious Crimes Unit, pushing nothing more than paperwork. It was time. Cho became the senior special agent in charge, his team of Rigsby, Van Pelt [who'd kept her name to avoid confusion at the office], and a new agent—along with his girlfriend, Summer, as the new, reformed confidential informant…or, now, consultant. She'd earned her degree in criminal psychology and promptly returned to Sacramento, demanding a job.

The office antics were not nearly as humorous, nor did Cho do nearly the amount of paperwork that had driven Lisbon into madness. Jane remained the stay-at-home father, to his content. A luxury he had not been afforded in his first endeavor. His consultations were still accepted happily, usually when lunch rolled around and he brought the office supply of caffeine. Patrick Jane had put away plenty and not touched a dime since his psychic days.

Lisbon still had no idea how much he truly had, but she and the girls never wanted for anything.

"Oh, Summer, this is absolutely beautiful!" Teresa said with an awed tone. The dress reminded her very much of the woman before her. It was white, a scalloped hem that was dyed a faded pink ombre, embroidered with yellow stitching.

Summer shrugged with a small smile. "I made it, I couldn't find anything that I thought would work, I didn't want her to look like baby Barbie so I did my own thing."

She'd always been the creative type, if her now purple tipped locks gave it away. She was startling to many of the suspects, as she had been one herself many times. It was easier for her to relate. Summer had a way of easing them into a sense of security-a vital talent much like Jane's.

"I had no part of it. I just signed the card," Cho replied with a mollified grin.

"Well it is stunning."

The rest of the party carried on much the same. The pink gifts strewn on the table, magenta wrapping paper, silver ribbons, giant bows all scattered on the ground, all three children playing happily with the bits of shredded paper and empty boxes. Couple by couple, the party guests left, the Lisbon Brother's and wives to catch planes, Annie, a special guest, off to college nearby. She was still intent on becoming a part of the CBI, and Cho had promised a spot when she graduated. The Rigsby's were the last to depart, pulling Benjamin and Catherine apart was like pulling teeth.

This particularly worried Patrick and Wayne, but had no effect on the women.

They simply thought it was charming. The men rolled their eyes. Charming, sure, until they were teenagers. But that was a long way off.

When they'd finally filtered out, Patrick closed the door, wrapping an arm around his exhausted wife.

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently.

"Tired. But I'm glad everyone showed, especially Annie and it's great to have Summer back—I haven't seen Cho smile in so long."

"Yes, I do say he's mighty chipper now that the pink-haired temptress has returned."

"Purple haired, you mean," Lisbon said with a laugh.

"She will always have pink hair to me, my dear," he responded lightly. "So, have we decided on any names for the next pink addition?"

"I thought it was your turn, since I chose Catherine," she coyly replied.

Jane looked around. "Speaking of Catherine, where has that sneaky little monster snuck off too?" Lisbon made a move to get up, but he waved her off. "It's alright, I'll find her, you should rest."

Lisbon snorted and rolled her eyes. "Sure, because I don't do that enough as it is," she called as he crossed into the kitchen. Teresa figured he was headed to the backyard, where Catherine loved to sneak off to, especially if she could get away with it.

She glanced to the front door when she heard the mail drop onto the wood floor. It was a bit late in the evening for mail, but maybe it was another card for the baby, or one of her neighbors again. She'd been getting Mrs. Lukas' mail more often than she desired, and found herself increasingly frustrated with their mail carrier.

Lisbon pushed off the couch arm, steadying herself. This would definitely be the last pregnancy for her tiny body. Once had been enough, but the idea of more had kept her from complaining much.

There was only one letter waiting on the floor, no return address, or even theirs printed on it. it said nothing more than The Jane's on its plain white surface.

She bent carefully to pick it up.

XOX

Jane smiled. Of course she was playing in the garden. She loved to pick the flowers, even though it drove Lisbon up a wall, having "slaved away planting them all summer."

She was never mad long, not when their doe-eyed daughter handed her a bunch of the pretty blooms.

"Catherine, come on munchkin, it's time to go inside," he called from the porch.

She wasn't paying attention to him though. Listening to mommy and daddy was something they were still working on with their clever three-year old.

"Now Catherine," he said in a firmer voice, catching her ear this time. She stood, brushing her blue dress, her absolute favorite, off with one hand. She ran to her father gleefully.

"Daddy, look!" she shrieked happily.

His smiled dropped, as did his heart.

In her chubby hand, she held a bunch of blood red roses, the sickening sweet smell bringing back the memories of a long ago day.

XOX

She could not have been more white-faced, drained of all color, even when she'd fought Lorelei, even when _he'd_ held her by a bruised arm and had a sharp blade to her throat.

And when her husband approached rapidly, bringing their tearful daughter with him, she knew something was horribly wrong.

She didn't look up. Their daughter had never wailed so terribly, and yet she could not comfort her child. One hand protectively covered her stomach, while the other clutched a postcard.

Patrick set their screaming daughter in the armchair, tossing the battered red roses onto the table angrily, but he was more afraid than upset. "He got close enough to give them to Catherine." His voice was dark and deadly, a tone she had not heard in four years.

"He left this, Patrick. I don't…I don't think he means us any harm…" She said strangely.

He took the postcard from her outstretched hand, from England, no less. A cheesy picture of Big Ben splayed across the cover. The writing on the back made him calm, in a strange, if haunted, way. He would never really be sure what Red John's intentions were. If they were malicious, or if the obsession had reversed, if Red John was now the one obsessed with a life unlived.

He pulled Teresa close, pulled Catherine into his lap and clung to his little family. He remembered he'd given up that quest for this life. It was the trade he had to make. He would never take it back.

There was far too much too lose now.

They vowed to shred the offending postcard. Their daughters would never know of the man that ruined one life for their father, but brought together two lost and damaged souls, thereby, creating a new life.

In the end, Red John had given him a gift after all. A new identity, so to speak.

They never heard from the serial killer again. They suspected he stayed out of country—possibly committing similar crimes in other cities, or deep in hiding, maybe even dead—but one could only hope such things. It was no longer their job, or their obsession.

They lived their lives, blissfully ignorant that he kept idle watch on the tiny family, watching the raven-haired girls grow from afar. They were no more a threat than a butterfly, and neither was he to them. It was the bargain he made when Patrick Jane had allowed him to live.

No harm would be done to them.

No harm to him either.

XOX

_Congratulations on your beautiful family, Patrick._

_I see my advice was not given in vain. She's lovely, your daughter, and your wife is glowing._

_I suspect our paths may cross again, but neither of us would recognize the other. Perhaps that is for the best._

_To lessons learned, Patrick Jane._

_-RJ_

XOX

_And it's over_

_And I'm going under_

_But I'm not giving up_

_I'm just giving in_

_Never let me go _

_Never let me go…_


End file.
